Do Those Things You Do Resubmit
by Pukkina
Summary: RESUBMIT. Some things done in an instant can result in a lifetime of heartache. What could happen to bitter enemies forced to reunite in a theater over a forgotten job? A clue, it involves anger, consequences, and a parcel of regret. NOT LJ.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: I decided to do a rewrite of Do Those Things You Do. Not because I'm not totally 100 swamped with my other stories and life outside of this fandom, but because I've been wanting to ever since I finished the thing, so many months ago. So, here's my best shot, I hope that even those of you who read the original will still find time to read and/or review!**

**Chapter One**

_Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward._

_-Unknown_

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For some reason, Lisa had never been one to wallow. Because from her viewpoint, wallowing, whining, and pouting were one in the same. And really, she figured, where in life could that get her?

Back to preschool. Even now, as the twenty-eight year old paused from her housecleaning to reflect, she realized how much she'd hated preschool. And elementary school, and highschool. All for one reason alone, and that reason was a living, breathing person with a name attached.

Joel Eggleston. Lisa didn't recall ever verbalizing her hatred for the kid, but it had definitely been there. He'd been what counselors today knew as a bully—but when she'd been young there hadn't been the hand-slapping seminars and school programs to combat the disease. The kid had tormented her every day of every week for fourteen years before she'd done something about it.

That something had been lengthy in planning. The first phase of her master plan involved what children knew then as "tattling" but was now known by most as "reporting acts of misdemeanor." The elementary kids hadn't let her live that one down, and her parents had otherwise ignored her. Joel threw even more rocks, destroyed even more of her clay pottery from art class.

The second step in her method had been to seek her revenge upon his person. She'd conceived that idea after a night alone at home watching The Princess Bride over and over again. Lisa had been in the seventh grade, and her hero was Inigo Montoya. It would have been great to just grab a sword from a random guy standing nearby and shred dear Joel to threads but there were two hindrances in that idea: one, Lisa couldn't stand the sight of blood and, honestly, she really didn't want to _kill_ anybody, and two, nobody really carried swords anymore.

So, because of that minor problem, Lisa decided to do it in a peaceful—well, not necessarily peaceful, she realized with a smirk, but nonviolent—manner. In the eighth grade, when Joel yet again tortured her with his fat jokes, she dumped a vial of bright magenta paint on his head. It had taken a month for the acrylics to come out, and Lisa had received a week's suspension. Joel? Absolutely nothing.

The last spurt of creation came when Lisa was losing her willpower. In the ninth grade, her eye caught a weathered note on the bulletin board before physical education class. She paused and read it. Field hockey. _Field hockey._ She'd rolled the idea around in her brain and stood there, stock still, until her teacher came out and demanded to know why she wasn't changed yet. Lisa had pointed to the sign. 'Can I join?' There were a lot of raised eyebrows and quirky questions that day. 'Why does the fat girl want to join the _field hockey_ team?' 'She's never played field hockey in her life!' The reasoning behind Lisa's determination was this: Joel Eggleston. There was nothing in the world that she wanted more than to wipe that smug little grin off his face. And this was the beginning of a long road down which she would follow to achieve her goal.

The first season, she hadn't played at all. But she was well on her way, already becoming more coordinated with the movements and exercises associated with the game. Lisa dropped ten pounds her first season, and twenty the next. Things were going good.

By her senior year, Lisa was a delicate one hundred and twenty pounds, though still mostly hated. Girls hated her because the guys loved her. The guys ended up hating her because their girlfriends caught their weak spot. Lisa Reisert.

In fact, Joel's teasings had diminished down to nothing when she'd achieved her perfect status. She actually almost forgot her original reasoning for following through with the plan until one day, she found a note tucked into the slats on her locker. It was from Joel, asking her to the homecoming dance. Lisa had almost passed out, but the moment the shock had floated away, she marched to his locker, ripped the note up, and threw it in his face.

'I don't _want_ to go out with you, Joel!' she had screeched.

'W-why?' his dumbfounded, disheartened stare had sat in the back of her mind since then.

'Because,' she smirked. 'You're too _fat!_' With that, her fist moved to his face and—strong from her work on the field—succeeded in breaking his nose. Her parents had not been thrilled with the hospital bill they were forced to pay. Lisa had been elated.

So now, Lisa realized, the only way to achieve a goal in life was to take action. Whining to people about her problems was not the way to go. Maybe not revenge, either, but doing _something _was best. After the rape, all she had wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sleep. She was safe there, wrapped from head to toe in her soft satin sheets, drifting through consciousness like the caterpillar in the cocoon she was engulfed in. She never sought retribution, too humiliated and depressed to go to the police, until one day about three months later that she was suddenly filled with pent-up rage and drove directly to the station. 'You came too late,' they'd told her sadly, eyes filling with mild annoyance but mostly apathy. 'Sorry. Nothing we can do.' Lisa chose never to pout again, no matter how juvenile or not the circumstances were.

After the red-eye flight, Lisa had been damn sure not to make the same mistake again. As soon as the police finished asking Keefe questions, she was first in line to submit her input. They had been genuinely dazed at her zeal and fervor in recounting the incident.

'Most victims of crime and terrorism don't want to ever speak of it again,' one had told her, shaking his head. Lisa had smiled.

'I'm not a victim, Detective,' she had claimed, nodding at Jackson Rippner's motionless body being rolled out of her foyer. 'He is.'

The trial three months later had been, in Lisa's opinion, anything but fair. In a way, when she had been testifying, she'd felt that she was digging herself a grave. It had actually brought to mind Joel Eggleston. As Jackson's eyes burned the word 'betrayal' into her own as she spoke, each word that escaped her lips felt like it was accompanied by 'na na na na na na.' Many sleepless nights had been spent with a plate of untouched scrambled eggs, Lisa's thoughts taking turns invading her brain cavity.

_You tattled, _some said. _You tattled, and when Jackson finds you, he'll kill you. Because you told everybody what he did and got him into trouble._

"Not much, though," Lisa grumbled crankily as she tossed her Swiffer duster above the television and pulled a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. "Two friggin' months and then, ladies and gentleman, Jack the Ripper is free as a bird."

His lawyer had counterattacked with the theory of Lisa's initial involvement in the scam. Her alleged guilt trip upon the realization that Keefe's kids were placed in the area of concern, and her rage that had turned to violence when she stabbed Jackson upon arrival.

'Because it totally makes sense,' Lisa had muttered angrily to her father after court had adjourned. 'That a selfless hotel manager with no record of previous criminal activity out of the blue decide to kill somebody.'

The jury had decided on two to twelve months for Jackson. The snake had wormed his way out in two, obviously waving the green under the bailiff's nose, Lisa decided bitterly.

She didn't dwell on it. What did it matter, really, if Jack was free. He'd been out for about a month now and Lisa hadn't seen him. Maybe he'd sunk into an assassin's retirement, sick of the day to day and slightly humiliated at the press that scathingly chirped his name daily. After all, Lisa had beaten him, hands down. There was no denying that no matter which way you swung it and Lisa also imagined that on the physical spectrum, he couldn't be feeling so hot right now. Gun, pen, and stiletto wounds must take some time to heal.

Or maybe he really didn't care about her. In a way, it stung her, but she pushed that feeling aside. What did she care, anyway? Sure, he was a cute face that could be charming. His blue eyes were nothing but scary to her anymore, and her initial attraction to him had been mostly replaced by repulsion.

But only mostly.

"No," Lisa sighed, sipping her juice as she put away her cleaning supplies. "He doesn't care. Obviously. I was just a means to an end, a nameless face with one purpose: the phone call. Obviously."

Lisa shrugged with a slight chuckle. "On the other hand, maybe he wouldn't be so bad to have around. At least I'd stop talking to myself all the time."

As if on cue, the phone jangled in its hook. She pressed a hand over her mouth and fought the urge to laugh, setting her juice back on the counter. Lisa grabbed up the phone and tucked it into the crook of her neck as she journeyed back to her bedroom to prepare for bed.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Leese!" She smiled warmly at the voice. Her best friend and only cousin, Tanya Mackenzie.

"Oh, hi," Lisa unhooked a thick flannel nightgown from her closet and laid it on the bed.

"What are you doing tonight?" Tanya bubbled. Lisa grinned at her energy, even late at night. Lisa would need three lattes and a six-pack of Mountain Dew to be half that lively.

"Well, Tanya, seeing how it's about an hour past my bedtime, going to sleep," Lisa chuckled, checking the clock again. She yawned, rubbing her itchy eyes and staring longingly at her bed.

"Seriously, you get too much sleep. That's why you're so tired." Tanya was always going on about Lisa's abnormal sleeping patterns. A ten o'clock bedtime and a five o'clock rise were the norm, though Lisa could easily slumber past noon on weekends.

Actually, she quite liked her new work schedule. Her boss had lightened up on her hours a bit, though she hadn't praised Lisa at all on her thwart of the assassination. Not that Lisa minded—Lord knows she'd had plenty of strangers come up and pat her on the back for a job well done—but it was unusual. She was the talk of every family gathering and yet her boss couldn't even meekly thank her. In fact, if she had to be completely honest with herself, Lisa felt that her boss might be a little bit jealous of Lisa's heroics, wanting the spotlight for herself.

"Why?" Lisa pressed, pulling the clip out of her hair and tossing it on her nightstand as she wandered back to the kitchen, dragging her fingers through her still-damp hair. "You're not planning another surprise Michael Myers movie fest again, are you? You know I hate those stupid movies."

"No," Tanya hesitated. Lisa wondered if she'd catch the insult on her favorite series, or if she'd let it go unnoticed. Or, as had been happening quite often, Tanya's mind would gloss it over until she would remember it a while later. She'd been known to go as long as a week before she brought up a topic that had long since been laid to rest. "I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie with me at the Alliance."

Lisa sighed, tapping her fingernails against the countertop restlessly. "Oh, sweetie, I don't know. It's late, and--"

"Leese, come on!" Tanya whined. Lisa smiled as she thought briefly back to her thoughts earlier. "We haven't done anything together in like, forever, and you don't have work tomorrow--"

"Because I need to pack," Lisa protested mildly, gazing at her suitcase sitting lonely in the corner of her living room. "I leave for Texas in two days, and I haven't even done my laundry yet."

"Can you honestly tell me that if you didn't come to the movies with me tonight, you would get work done?" Tanya clucked. "Seriously. I'll bet you the movie and a bucket of popcorn that you're standing in the kitchen right now, staring at your ugly granny nightgown and getting ready for bed."

"Well, pay up, Tanya, 'cause you have no idea," Lisa snapped. Movie? Sure. Just to wipe the inevitable smirk off her cousin's face.

"Okay then. Do something for me, will you?"

"Got it." Lisa began to gather what she needed for the movie and pulled back on her heels.

"Look out the window."

Lisa pivoted on her heel. Tanya beamed and waved at her from outside.

_Ah, damn it._ Shooting her friend a sarcastic simper, Lisa pointed to the door. Tanya ran around and Lisa let her in. She wasted no time in unceremoniously paddling twenty dollars into Tanya's eager palms.

**Author's Note: So a very long prologue, but I think those highly irrelevant details were somewhat necessary. For all original readers, so you know, this one's going to be quite a lot different from the first DTTYD. Ok, then. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: Many thanks to my sweet reviewers! **

'_Tis easy enough to be pleasant,  
When life flows along like a song;  
But the man worth while is the one who will smile  
When everything goes dead wrong._

_-Ella Wheeler Wilcox_

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Jackson hissed at his reflection in the mirror as his fingertips danced over the oval scar on his neck. The puckering scarlet sore burned as he touched it, sending a searing shoot of pain up his chest.

It wasn't as much the scar that bothered him as it was the memories that continually accompanied it. Memories of a dirty airplane bathroom crowded with a soap scrawl and a petite redhead. Of a figure catapulting down carpeted stairs with force—_his_ force—that was unsurpassable. The look of terror on her face, the look of his face at the pen embedded in his vocal chords.

The look of Lisa Reisert.

She would not escape him. He wanted her to. Jackson's mind had flashed anger, disbelief, and betrayal when she'd stabbed him. Anger because he was riddled with holes and bleeding profusely, disbelief because he'd been beaten by a seemingly powerless woman.

Betrayal because she'd been his and corrupted that position.

It was with a sick, yet pleasurable satisfaction that Jackson growled his conviction. "She was _mine_," he said. "Lisa Reisert was the one from the start."

Attraction? Some. Not that he considered her physically endearing. She was cute enough, but not exactly his type. And it wasn't even that she was particularly sexy, physically or otherwise.

_Of course not,_ he thought bitterly. _It wasn't as if she did a little striptease before the pen entered my neck. _

In a way, though, her sexiness—or lack thereof—was what drew him to her. It wasn't just that she was different, there was something special about her. She was reserved, the first person he'd ever met beside himself who really harbored no interest for social activities. Lisa was also one of the first people to give Jackson a run for his money.

And she was his only victim whom he knew wasn't afraid of him anymore.

The rest would either be dead or in mental homes. Some were in jail, accused of Jackson's crime. A lucky few had managed to go back to their homes, families, and work, but like Lisa had, they plummeted to insecurity. It really made him chuckle, the pattern in 'terrorism survivors', as they'd been called. Every single one, it seemed, would sink into a depression marked by refusal to leave their homes outside of work. Each carried a taser or a pocketknife with them wherever they went.

But Lisa was doing well, he noted. She was armed, but with weapons he wouldn't even consider worrying about. A pen, maybe, but not a cheap little bottle of pepper spray on a key ring.

Jackson tugged the corners of his thick black sweater and pulled his turtleneck up, smiling a bit conspiratorially at his reflection. _Let's see Lisa try anything now._

He tucked his cell phone back into his jacket pocket, which he casually pulled on before leaving the restroom in a rapid stride.

He had to slow drastically as he stepped into the lobby. _Shit._ He was in clear sight of Lisa, who was chatting up her cousin at the concession stand. Grabbing a menu from a fast-food vendor nearby, he slid into a chair with his back to her, feeling the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

Jackson had always found it interesting how the body naturally reacted to a former predator. Lisa was obviously no threat to him now, but his neck and his leg and his chest remembered what she'd done to him and the anguished exhilaration pulsed through his veins like a drug. It clouded his vision and made him jittery, which he couldn't afford. It would botch this job and what he needed to do to her.

He glanced up a few minutes later once the feeling had ebbed away some and noticed she was gone. Smirking, he checked his watch and stood up. He double-checked for his car keys and punched in his contact's number.

"Rippner."

"Garr. Are you ready?"

Jackson shook his head at the sarcastic German drawl of the older man. "Yes, I'm ready. When are you following through with this absurd plan?"

He rolled his eyes, biting back a stream of curses. He needed to be discreet, and this man, annoying as he was, was the best Jackson had. "Soon. I think her movie is starting now. I need to wait awhile, bide my time until her guard is down because if she notices me too soon, the whole operation would turn to shit."

Jackson heard a weighted sigh come from Garr's lips and snapped a reprisal at him. "Keep it together. I'll call you when I need you."  
He hung up and replaced the phone inside of his jacket, purposefully letting his hand glide over the beauty he concealed within his coat. His baby, the 12-inch KaBar. If Lisa tried _anything_, he'd be ready.

He was ready this time. And if he didn't make it out alive, neither would she.


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: Thank you to the sweet reviewers who sent feedback for the last two chapters! I've been trying to reply to them but as things get busier I get more skilled at the art of procrastination. I will get caught up, I will!

_Time spent in getting even would be better spent in getting ahead._

_-Unknown_

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Lisa took a sip of her soda, clenching her teeth tightly around the straw in frustration. She didn't stop when she noticed the large indents her teeth were making, it was only when the straw snapped in half that she surrendered and pocketed the fragment as a momentum of this painstakingly boring night.

Date Movie. Tanya hadn't allowed her the meager privilege of actually seeing what movie she had pooled money into. 'It's a surprise.' Now, sitting in the darkened theater and watching idiots attempt to act, Lisa couldn't believe she'd given in to her cousin's insipid whim. This was the greatest waste of her time since she spent two hours chasing a Portuguese guest around the hotel because he left his wallet on the front desk.

Lisa wanted more than anything to voice her opinion, loudly, to Tanya, but she feared for her safety. The morons in the theater would sooner decapitate her than let her bash 'great film' in their proximity. It would be like when she and her father took a trip to Boston and he wore his Yankees shirt. Suicidal, stupid, and a further waste of time.

So she sat there, idly tapping her fingernails against the plastic armrest and hoping Tanya would get the picture and turn to her so Lisa could whisper that she had to leave. She'd already tried it the movie had started, but Tanya had been too engrossed and ignored her. She was still enamored, laughing along with the drones at parts Lisa couldn't fathom as funny.

She knew she was probably annoying the man sitting a seat away from her. He'd glanced at her once, though mostly in passing. She couldn't read his face in the dark, but it was partially obscured by the balcony above them, anyway. Not that Lisa cared what he thought.

She wondered how long it would be. She had it pegged for two hours, which was the average of most movies she'd seen. But since this was bad humor, it could very well last for hours on end, trying to prove a 'funny' point that wasn't amusing to begin with.

She sighed loudly. Tanya was unresponsive. She accidentally-on-purpose kicked her. Still no response.

Lisa leaned back and shut her eyes as a mock _Kill Bill_-esque fight scene began. Maybe she could at least catch up on some sleep, that would do her some good. As she was beginning to drift off, she felt somebody poke her hard in the arm.

Opening her eyes, she blinked noncommittally at the man next to her. He'd slid over to the seat closer but wasn't looking at her. He leaned over, his eyes glued to the screen and whispered, "Does this remind you of anything?"

Lisa was too confused by his remark to even bother wondering who the hell he was. "Uh…..no." She marveled at her wit. "Should it?"

He glanced briefly at her. "Julia Jones's Ka-Bar doesn't ring a bell?"

On second thought, it sure as hell did.


	4. Chapter 4

_Argument is the worst sort of conversation.  
-Jonathan Swift_

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She hadn't said much. He'd been secretly elated at her discovery of his identity, but he kept up the calm, noncommittal façade that he'd plastered on from the moment he'd stepped foot inside the theatre.

Jackson knew she was scared. She said nothing, but he heard the ice rattling together in the plastic cup she clenched in her trembling hands. The noise delighted his ears—delighted him that _she_ was _afraid_. Afraid of him. He had the upper hand again.

"What are you doing here, Jackson?"

He carefully contemplated his answer. He could tell her the truth, but what was the fun in that? He would draw her out, build her anxiety until she snapped, and then he would lay it all on her.

Jackson gestured grandly at the screen and whispered back, "Just watching some classy, high-quality entertainment, what about you?"

Part of him expected a witty retort, and the other predicted that she would try to harm him in some way. Lisa shocked him, however, by doing neither. She began to bolt from her chair and down the aisle, but although she caught him off guard, his reflexes were in check. He gripped her wrist and thrust her roughly back into her chair. Jackson glanced around the theater briefly to check for onlookers, but everybody was completely absorbed with the movie.

"Leaving so soon, Lisa?" he hissed. "You know, it's quite rude to leave somebody when they're having a conversation with you."

"Let go of me," she trembled. "Leave me alone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Jackson replied, widening his eyes quite innocently. "Because you see if I do, I'll be forced to kill your cousin because the job was never completed. And, although I honestly don't care one way or the other, I'm assuming that you would consider that a _bad_ thing, correct?"

Lisa gritted her teeth and clenched her jaw, something Jackson recognized to be another output of her exasperation. He nearly felt sorry for her poor mouth, always taking the brunt of her emotions. "What do you want?"

"No simple 'hello, Jackson, how are you, Jackson?'" he frowned miserably at her and laughed as she scowled. "We've quite moved past the pleasantries of our last meeting, haven't we? By the way, have there been any more parking lot incidents that I need to know about? Because it would be nice to get all of this exposition out of the way without a pen hindering my compassion."

She struggled against his consistent grip on her wrist, her face twisting as she fought anger-fueled tears. "Fuck you."

Though he automatically wanted to, Jackson bit back a corny retort to her sneer and cleared his throat. "I'd calm it down, Leese, before people notice. I'm not a fan of unnecessary death."

Lisa just shook her head blankly at him as tears poured down her face, but she quieted. "What do you want?" she repeated.

"Would it be too clichéd if I said I was back to steal you?"

"I'll die first." Her automatic response, the one he'd expected. He knew the events that must be unfolding in her mind. She would be thinking he wanted _her_, Lisa Reisert. He did, of course, but that obviously hadn't been what he'd meant. He needed her for the job.

"I'm loving how you automatically assume that this is actually about you," he chuckled softly. "Do you really think I'm interested in you, Lisa? What happened to the self-consciousness back at the airport?"

"That disappeared when you threw me down the stairs," she spat at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He paused, biting his lip, uneager to quit stringing her out. "I have another job and I need your assistance. For now, all I want you to do is sit back and enjoy the rest of the movie." It struck him suddenly that she hadn't been enjoying it in the first place.

"And then?" Jackson was shocked by her sudden compliance. It disappointed him that she was going down so easily. He'd been all geared up for a fight, and yet she was sitting there and acting exactly how he was telling her to. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, he realized, but annoying.

"And then you're going to walk out of this theater with your cousin and act as if everything is normal. You're going to ask her to leave, and then we'll take things from there."

Lisa nodded glumly, hanging her head. Jackson frowned at her. What was going on, really? After watching her for the past two weeks, he'd noticed a significant change in her persona, but not in this direction. She'd been happier, less introverted, and less apprehensive.

Jackson didn't want to see her broken like this. He wanted to cause her defeat. Granted, if she was acting like this now, it was because of him, but he wanted to _see_ it. He wanted to watch her fall. The old Lisa Reisert would die this quickly. Something was wrong with the quivering shell of humanity next to him. Something was obviously afoot.

He caught her foot as it edged towards her purse and crushed it with his. She whimpered slightly and twitched in her seat, but nobody noticed the mouse-like gesture.

As Lisa quickly withdrew her leg and tucked it safely under her seat, Jackson swept down and scooped up her bag, slapping it into his lap. Her key chains rattled cheerfully as he turned to glower at her.

"So that's what it is," he murmured thoughtfully, relieved at his revelation. _So she wasn't succumbing. She was preparing herself for attack._

Lisa slouched in her seat, pushing her hair back with her fingers. "Why can't you just leave me _alone_?" she moaned quietly. "What have I done to deserve this?"

Jackson pondered an answer, before an extremely familiar one registered. He smirked as he leaned closer to her face. Lisa twitched, her face contorting again into tears as he whispered into her ear.

"Well, Leese, sometimes bad things happen to good people."


	5. Chapter 5

_Anger blows out the lamp of the mind._

_-Robert Ingersoll_

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Lisa didn't know what to think. In a way, there was a sort of pervasive relief that Jackson had finally caught up to her, in that she didn't have to worry what he was plotting any more.

But the sensible side of her, the managerial side of her was cussing as loud as possible, screaming to Lisa's subconscious that the return of the notorious Jackson Rippner was definitely a bad thing.

He was going to kill her. She knew it and although a fraction of soul was quaking with fear, the greater portion was seething in white-hot anger. It wasn't fair that Jackson had the power to do this to her, and it wasn't fair that he'd been freed from prison. The injustice of the legal system was more what was irritating her at the moment, but she couldn't deny that everything boiled back down to the charming man in classy attire next to her.

Lisa's first step had been to admit that she wasn't hallucinating. She hadn't fallen asleep like she'd wanted to, and the man sitting next to her wasn't just an ordinary civilian playing a prank after seeing the articles on her in the paper. No.

Because nobody had the rasp.

It stuck out as obviously as a hippopotamus in Antarctica, yet it had diminished quite extraordinarily since their last encounter. She sneered at the voice trainings he must have had to restore it to only a little bit under par. In a way, his impediment gave her a bit of dignity. She had caused that scratchy voice of his, and the pain that had accompanied it. At least he'd gotten some of what he'd deserved by the beating that she'd given him at her father's house. If the court couldn't serve up justice on a silver platter, well, then, she sure as hell could.

Lisa cursed herself for not remembering her purse sooner. It had been within a nudge's reach of her foot, and she'd forgotten about it. That negligence was a characteristic so foreign to her that she was forced to attribute its sudden appearance to the shock.

The credits finally began to roll—and Lisa noticed that the movie went by much quicker when she was trying to think up escape methods—and she mimicked Tanya by rising to her feet and stretching.

Lisa felt Jackson's hand on her back just as Tanya turned around. He whipped it away, and when Lisa chanced a glance back at him, she noticed him busying himself with his popcorn bin and soda cup.

"What a great movie!" Tanya squealed, jumping up and down with the mentality of a six-year-old as she squeezed her cousin's arm. "What was your favorite part?"

"Um…." Lisa bit her lip and looked at Jackson. He was staring back at her, which made her cringe and snap her gaze back to Tanya's. "The whole thing was fantastic, Tanya. Really. Good choice."

She rubbed her throat to massage away the sobs that were forming and slung her purse over her shoulder. Maybe if she could tell Tanya quickly and break into a run fast enough…

"Okay, Leese, don't get any bright ideas and your cousin will be safe. Get her to leave and she's home free." Jackson's breath heated her earlobe as his scratchy voice resonated into her eardrums. She cringed and with a nod, hurried after her friend.

Tanya half-dragged her out to the lobby, where the bright lights stung Lisa's eyes and beckoned a different sort of tears. She rubbed them quickly and squinted at the clock. It was well after midnight, and the lobby of the Alliance was completely deserted, spare a portly teenager slouched over in a dead sleep at the concession stand.

_Or is he dead?_ Lisa hated the automatic dread that filled her chest. _Don't think that way. He's just sleeping. Stop being so morbid._

"Okay, Tanya," Lisa hated her compliance but she didn't want to risk her cousin's safety for her own mental well-being. If she went insane when Jackson came back, well, then, that was a small price to pay for her best friend's head. "I'll see you later then. Thanks for inviting me."

"Thanks for the movie," Tanya chirped, pulling a compact from her purse and studying her reflection. "So, give me a call, okay? I hate not hearing from you. I worry."

_You have no idea._ "Yeah," Lisa croaked, forcing a smile. "I'll make sure to check in. Tell Adam hi for me." A twinge of jealousy hit her then. Tanya had her boyfriend to go home to, to make everything okay and to protect her from the Jackson Rippners in the world. Who did Lisa have? Dr. Phil and a carton of Cherry Garcia.

Tanya began to walk away, but when she noticed Lisa not pursuing and instead standing stock-still, she froze, cocking her head playfully at her cousin. "You coming, Leese?"

"I…" Lisa bit her lip, searching for answers. Her gaze drifted over Tanya's shoulder, where, behind a large pillar, she saw Jackson poke his head out. His blue eyes hardened in annoyance and he sneered at her in disgust, tapping the heavy Rolex on his wrist as he did so. She swallowed. "I'm meeting my dad. Go on without me."

Tanya scrunched up her face in confusion. "At midnight?"

"You know what a night hawk he is," Lisa forced a laugh, hating herself. "It's all those late-night comedy marathons that did him in. He wanted to show me his…photo albums. So he's picking me up." 

Tanya raised an eyebrow in incredulity and Lisa realized her key mistake. _Lying Rule #1-Never give too many details._ "You sure you don't need a ride?"

"Positive." Another plastic grin, so uncharacteristically Lisa that it was a wonder Tanya didn't figure it out right then.

Tanya slapped her purse on a table. "I'll just wait with you!"

Lisa grabbed her cousin's hand. "No! Leave!"

She hadn't realized the vigor behind her words until Tanya stared up at her with a mixture of hurt and confusion etched across her delicate features. She jumped to her feet and threw her bag over her shoulder.

"Fine," she snapped, not looking at Lisa as she yanked on her coat. "Give me a call, _Leese_, if you get around to it in your busy schedule."

As Tanya ran angrily for the door, Lisa wanted to yell her apology and an explanation, but her throat closed in a sob. She collapsed to the floor as Jackson smirked at her and strolled over, hands slung casually into his pockets.

He kneeled next to her. "What's up?"

Lisa trembled as she felt his body heat radiate and sizzle against her temper. _Possibly the only loved one I'll see before I die, and because of you, she's angry with me. Now we'll both have to harbor that guilt, me into whatever afterlife I'm headed to. _ She instinctively threw up a fist to punch him in the face, but he caught her wrist and pulled her to her feet. She struggled against him, literally tooth and nail. He swore at her when her mouth left an indentation in his elbow.

"Fuck, Lisa, calm down!" he hissed, drawing her closer to him. "We still have a customer, so _sell it."_

She paused from her strenuous resistance and glanced up at the concession stand, where the boy had woken up from his catnap. His head was cocked to the side as he observed Lisa and Jackson and began walking over.

"My cell phone is in my hand and ready to kill your cousin," Jackson jeered quietly to her, tugging her to his side and concealing her purse behind his back as the boy approached.

"'Evening," the kid greeted, obscuring a yawn with the back of his hand. "Is there a problem here?"

"Not at all," Jackson replied, the poster boy of suave and collected. Lisa busied herself by staring at her shoes. "My sister here is just recovering from a breakup. She's a little bit aggressive and tense right now. But she'll be fine, won't you, Leese?"

Lisa looked up. That was her cue. She brushed her eyes and choked out an agreement, not looking at the man who held her arm strongly. At least he'd said she was her sister. If he'd let people assume they were together like he had on the flight, well, she would have been even more infuriated.

When the kid had slogged back off to his desk, Jackson returned once again to the demon-eyed manager he was. "Come on," he snapped coldly at her. "The car."

"The car?" Lisa repeated incredulously, wrenching her arm from his grasp. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

She saw Jackson frown edgily back at the desk before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him in a familial hug. She fought the bile that built at her throat and gagged her as he whispered in her ear, "Cool it, Lisa."

She followed him outside where a cherry-red Ford Escort was parked. Now, away from the prying eyes of the cinematic staff, she was free to speak her mind. "Don't you think that car's a bit feminine, Jackson?" she ridiculed as he unlocked it and threw her purse in the trunk.

Jackson gestured grandly to the vacant space in the trunk. "Well, Leese, if you don't like it, feel free to sit back here." She shot him a condescending sneer before her eyes fell upon the sleeping figure in the backseat.

"Oh, my God," Lisa whispered, stumbling backwards as her hand mechanically flew to her mouth. She fell into the lamppost behind her and attempted to right herself, while still shivering uncontrollably. "J-Jackson, how—how could you….?"

"Get in the car, Lisa," he said quietly. "Now."

It was coming. Another panic attack, the ones that had begun since Jackson's trial. "N—no…" She felt her throat closing up, her heart seizing in fear. "Jackson, you….she…"

"Everything will be okay, Leese, if you _get in the car,_" Jackson repeated calmly, despite the workings of fury beginning in his eyes. "Get in the car." He opened the front passenger's door and waited for her.

Lisa's hands clenched around the cool pole behind her as she tried to walk. _I have to get in that car for Tanya. Don't pay attention to what you saw. There must be a reason. Jackson wouldn't…_

Run. Her brain screamed the transmission and before the sensible executive side of her could argue it, her legs were propelling her back towards the Alliance.

Lisa wanted to stop and submit to Jackson, to save her cousin, but she couldn't. It was too late now. If he caught her, Tanya was as good as dead for her cousin's attempt. If he didn't, she would have a chance to call the police and throw the fucker back where he rightfully belonged.

She was almost there. Five feet from the sidewalk. Four. Three.

Lisa felt the icy iron grip on her waist before she even heard Jackson approaching. She let out a weak scream before he wrapped a hand around her mouth and threw her back down to the asphalt. He wrapped an arm around her neck as he pinned her to the ground with his knees, so she was bent upwards in an 'L' position.

"I could kill you right now, Lisa, if I wanted to," Jackson snarled, patting his pockets where inevitably various agony-inducing weapons rested hidden, and then gesturing at his arm which was positioned quite conveniently for his purposes.

"Then do it," she hissed. "Do it _right now_. See if I care."

Jackson smirked at her before reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "No."

"Why no--" Lisa felt the sharp sting in her shoulder as she noticed Jackson draw away with the hypodermic in hand. Her heavy eyelids thudded close but as she drifted into her subconscious, she felt Jackson's whisper more than she heard it.

"Because I still need you."

Author's Note: Sorry for the cliffhanger. Actually, wait…no, I'm not. I'm just sadistic.

**I should be putting up another new chapter within the next few days. Thank you to all you reviewers, those notices mean more to me than anything!! **


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Thanks again to all of my readers/reviewers. Nothing means more to me, f'serious.

_Time is like a drug. It kills you if you have too much of it.  
-Terry Pratchet_

Jackson tapped his fingers idly on the steering wheel, his eyes glazed over the dashboard as he tried to focus on staying awake. It wasn't even so much that he was sleepy as he was bored. He couldn't remember ever being as enervated as this, not even from the long hours he'd put in watching Lisa sleep or brush her teeth. He squinted at a road sign and wheezed heavily.

_We're only in fucking ORLANDO?_

He lolled his head to the side and stole a glimpse at Lisa. She was curled up against the door, her mouth popped open slightly and forming a graceful 'o' shape, her hair spilling across her delicate features and obscuring most of her face. A light bruise was forming on her arm, he noted sourly, where he'd grabbed her. It piqued him, that bright purple mark, a reminder of his pathetic techniques. A year ago, Jackson Rippner would never have the need to physical attack somebody. That was what words were for—to inhibit terror and hurt without having to actually use force. That was what coworkers said made him so intimidating, and Jackson wasn't proud of the dissension of his decorum and capabilities to deal with some woman. It wasn't normal, the way she affected him, how she exacerbated him so. It was extremely frustrating, and he was intent on fixing the situation as soon as possible.

Jackson felt a swift kick to his lower back and grimaced, slowing and glancing peevishly back at the small child in the backseat. It was with a mixture of animosity and relief that he noticed she was still dead to the world, shifting in her sleep. He knew he was low on sleep when he realized that he not only wanted to attack a three-year-old girl, but also when he doubted the magical capability of Domar. He was, currently, in extreme gratitude for the drug's existence, not only for succeeding in knocking out Keefe's daughter, but in victoriously quieting Lisa. He knew she'd be confused, if not downright livid when she awoke, but at least he had the upper hand now, away from prying eyes and with the existence of the girl in the back. Lisa wouldn't be able to do anything of consequence.

This was so dreary, all this driving. If he could have, he would have pulled to the side of the road right then and had a little snooze or, even better, taken out his laptop and worked. But the problem in that little opportunity would be of jeopardizing this operation. Not that anybody would care about Lisa yet, but he knew the entire state would be on red alert, all for little Melanie Keefe. He stewed silently over her father.

Although the job had never been personal, Jackson had always hated the man. A simple-minded rich man from the Florida Keys, his policies had always irked intellectuals in particular. It was his lax policy in dealing with sex offenders and what Jackson liked to call 'frat boy' crimes that bothered him. He'd campaigned for the lessened sentence of offenders to fifteen years, something Jackson found utterly ridiculous. As for minor scale crimes, frat boy crimes, something Jackson would have found hilarious when he was young and stupid, like illegal drinking and theft, Keefe proposed a harsher penalty.

Jackson's main objective with the new and improved operation was to force Keefe to step down from his position. Hopefully, the irony of the situation would be what would do it. His original client, Alvaro Jacome, had been interested only in the murder of the Deputy Secretary and his family, but after the failure of the first job and a personal consultation with Jackson himself, he'd rearranged his options and decided that simply forcing Keefe from office would be more effective, meaningful. 'After all,' he'd said, 'Millions of politicians are murdered, and few are ever written into history because of the volume of those committed. But nobody has ever been pushed from politics with the backstabbing of their own tactics, have they?'

Lisa was to be the means of communication. Jackson wasn't willing to sacrifice himself nor any of his department to be the one to negotiate with Keefe, nor was he particularly enthused at the prospect of jail that could await him if somebody involved decided to get cute and summon a crew of law enforcement. Plus, there was the potential of framing Lisa for the whole ordeal if things finished too messy. So many options were awakening to him now and he wondered why he'd ever even considered the red-eye plan.

He couldn't take it any more. He cleared his throat, which failed in its purpose to rouse Lisa. Sighing, Jackson gingerly poked her in the shoulder. She turned in her sleep, and he grunted. This simply would not do.

Jackson reached for the radio and quickly snapped the volume up to magnitudes so screeching that he was astonished that he could hear it. Some sort of heavy metal music agonized his eardrums and made him itch in anticipation for her to wake up. It worked.

"What the hel--"

"Morning, star shine," Jackson smirked mirthfully, and as soon as it had begun, the music was gone. "Nice nap?"

Lisa groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing her head. "Peachy. Where the fuck am I?"

"Well, since you put it so eloquently," Jackson said, nodding at another road sign, "We're just outside of Orlando."

He detected her obvious confusion and smiled, again praising Domar for its hangover-esque side effects. Agonizing Lisa wasn't the objective of the job, he reminded himself. It was just an added perk.

"Why—you--" Lisa shook her head, and Jackson noticed the allegorical light bulb turn on over her head. He predicted her next move as she dived at him, and he promptly had her pushed back against the wall again.

"That was stupid."

Jackson momentarily averted his eyes from the road to see her leaning against the window, clutching her head. He waited patiently for her to speak. Now that she was awake, he had all the time in the world.

"Who is that?" Jackson didn't need to see her jab a thumb backwards for him to assume that she was talking about Melanie.

He said, "Her name is Melanie Keefe."

Lisa paled considerably, her normally rosy complexion going ghost-white in less than a minute as a shiver racked noticeably through her body. "Keefe? Her father—but she's too young to be his!"

Jackson knew the immediate that would announce itself to her brain. That Keefe had had an affair. While Jackson sincerely wished that was true just to discredit the asshole even more, he had sworn to himself years ago that he would never lie. "She doesn't travel with them for security purposes. Do you know how easy it would be to pick her off?"

Lisa turned to him, stony-faced, as she spat sarcastically, "No, but _you_ do."

"Correct," Jackson applauded how simply she rose out of her sedated mental anarchy. Seeing the aggravated look etched on her face, he added, "I didn't do anything of consequence, Leese, relax. She just got a healthy dose of the same stuff you did."

Lisa's voice was high-pitched. "You gave her _that?_ Seriously, Jackson, I'm a full-grown woman and it's killing me!" She clapped a hand over her mouth, and Jackson laughed at her indignity. Obviously, she would sooner suffer than openly admit her pain.

He reached under his seat for a plastic Ziploc bag and tossed it unceremoniously at her. She let it rest on her lap for a moment, as Jackson sighed and snapped, "Ibuprofen. In the yellow bottle."

Lisa nodded and eagerly selected the bottle, but when her hand had closed around the cap and she was ready to squeeze it off, she paused. "How do I know this isn't some date-rape or fatal drug?"

Jackson chuckled and narrowed his eyes at her. "What I gave you before was a date-rape drug, Leese. Take the medicine or don't take it. I honestly don't care."

Lisa had run out of things to say. She opened her mouth to retort, then at once snapped it shut. He did notice, however, how she closely examined the label on the pill before dry-swallowing. When it had cleared her throat and taken the sip of water that Jackson proffered, she spoke again. "Why is she here?"

"More or less for the same reason you are," Jackson replied dismissively, but when he caught Lisa's glare he sighed, "and not to die. Why do you keep assuming that?"

Lisa didn't answer him for a while as they continued down the road. Her silence unnerved him, because from past experiences he'd learned that when she stopped talking, nine times out of ten she was plotting. He was wrong, though, because when she opened her mouth again, he realized that she'd just been thinking.

"Because it's probably better than what you're planning."

**Author's Note: I thought I'd point out now my reasoning for tossing in an extra Keefe kid. In the commentary, which I'm sure that by now you've all watched, somebody (I think it's Wes, but I'm not sure) says something along the lines of, "And there's Keefe and his _three_ children." But of course, we only see the two blonde-haired angels on the plane and later in the hotel. I'm pretty sure that this it was just a slip of the tongue, but I'm going to play upon that mistake and decide that his youngest daughter, Melanie, was for some reason not accompanying them on their trip in the movie. Sound good? **


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Thank you so much, readers/reviewers. I'm seriously loving the amount of feedback I'm getting.

xx

_No matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief._

_--Unknown_

Lisa rubbed fiercely at her forehead, trying to force the guilt-inducing memory from her brain. She detested the subtle inconvenience of its sudden reoccurrence now, at the worst possible of times.

_"Violence is not the answer, Leese, sweetheart,_" Henrietta told her. _"You instead must use your willpower and your brain—and you have far too precious one, darling, to waste it—rather than your fist to solve your problems."_

The guilty hand twitched in Lisa's lap. She slapped her other palm down to control it, shaking and praying that Jackson hadn't noticed. She wasn't entirely keen on the concept of drawing any more attention to herself than necessary.

She so badly wanted to hit him, to inflict at least a fraction of the pain that consumed her, mentally and physically. Not only what he'd done to her, but what had been pent up there for years. If only she could form that rage into a fist and slam it over his nose, now that would be satisfying.

_No,_ she thought decisively. It was like trying to convince herself _not_ to eat the last donut—even though hitting Jackson would ultimately be bad for her health, it was hard to resist its temptation. Half of her brain tried to justify her longing while the other scolded protectively against it. This shouldn't be so hard.

_Come on,_ evil Lisa chided. _He'll just get a little annoyed and maybe hit you back. What's wrong with that? At least you'll feel better._

Up went her hand, floating inches above her lap, tingling.

_No, no, Lisa,_ her saintly side, the one that sounded not unlike her grandmother, _things will only end badly for you and Melanie._

It flopped back to her leg again.

_What are you talking about? He won't hurt a three-year-old. It's all you, Lisa. This isn't hard. You could cream him and it wouldn't affect you in the slightest. Do it. Go ahead. Just do it._

"Shut up."

Jackson frowned at her. "I didn't say anything."

Mortified, Lisa's hand flew to her mouth as she sucked in a breath of air. "I--"

She praised whatever deity reigned over her—although, she realized, up until now he'd been doing a pretty lax job at keeping the world fair and clean—as Melanie awoke with a howl. Jackson cursed under his breath as he jumped in shock and glanced dismissively at her via the rearview mirror. Other than that, he ignored her crying.

Lisa twisted in her seat and attempted to console the small girl curled up in agony on the seat, but it was difficult while the car was moving and she restrained by a seatbelt. She grunted and glared at Jackson as she righted herself, tugging at the belt. "Aren't you going to do anything?"

He never once pulled his eyes from the road. "About what?"

"About—about _her_!" Lisa cried heatedly. "Pull the car over, _now_!"

He next either ignored her completely or was contemplating this, but Lisa didn't allow room for question. "_Pull the car over, Jack!"_ she shrieked, and Jackson roughly jerked the car to the side of the road.

There was a short lull as Melanie and Lisa, shocked by the sudden change in speed and environment, caught their breath, but Melanie didn't wait long before starting up again in her wails. Despite Jackson's protests, Lisa threw open her car door and jumped in the back.

"What's wrong with her?" Lisa questioned, anxiously searching the child's face for any sign of illness. "What did you give her, again?"

"I—uh—Domar," Jackson craned his neck around his seat, nervously looking back and forth between the two women. "She's fine, Leese. Domar's effects are similar only to a hangover—she probably has a headache and is somewhat confused."

"Of course she's _confused_," Lisa snapped, pressing a hand to Melanie's forehead. "You'd be confused, too, _Jack_, if some strange ugly man kidnapped you and threw you in his car. I'm just relieved that I saw who it was and had the vaguest remembrance of kicking the crap out of him half a year ago."

Jackson snarled angrily at her and looked ready to attack, but as Lisa cocked her head innocently at the child in her lap he withdrew back into his seat, his eyes indicating that they would finish the dispute later.

"I'm trembling," she mouthed, triumphant at her advantage. Melanie sniffled, her face red from crying.

Lisa looked down at her. "Sweetheart?" she hummed, making sure to add a nearly sickening dose of sugar to her voice. The child was young, she was disoriented, she was most likely in pain. What she needed was a friend if not a motherly figure to help her calm down. "What hurts?"

Melanie rubbed her forehead, screwing up her face in consternation. If the girl wasn't in pain, Lisa would have called it the most adorable thing she'd ever seen. She wondered why she'd never had kids. "Head."

Lisa looked to Jackson, who was sulking in his seat. _This three-year-old could take an insult better than him._ "Jackson." She made sure not to leave off the 'son' this time. After all, she needed a favor and what would be the point of aggravating him again?"

"What?"

"Do you have any more of that aspirin you gave me?"

He glanced sulkily at her. "Yes. But it's not the children formula."

She smirked at him. "We'll cut it in half."

He ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes into slits, obviously annoyed by being discreetly offended again, but roughly tossed her the bottle. Lisa caught it in her palms before it could hit Melanie, again perturbed by his openly violent tendency in front of a three-year-old. She picked a pill out with her fingernail and contemplated how to break it, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Jackson interrupted.

"I don't have scissors, and I'm not giving you my knife."

Lisa grinned as she stuck the pill between her teeth and easily snapped it in two. "I could think of a better use for the knife than chopping up medicine." She handed half of the pill to Melanie and dropped the other half back into the bottle before handing it back to Jackson. He just stared at her as she buckled into the backseat and helped to make the child comfortable next to her.

"You're not sitting back there."

She blinked. "Yes."

"No."

"Would you like to hear another display of my female-driven logic?" Lisa prodded. Jackson quieted and returned to the steering wheel.

Melanie began to drift back off into a ibuprofen-induced sleep, but this time on Lisa's lap. Lisa stroked the girl's shoulder-length white-blond hair, feeling sad yet content all at once. If life was fair, this girl's existence was purely contradictory. It wasn't, but it still wasn't right that a three-year-old child be held captive. It wasn't right at all, not by anybody's standards. Except, of course, by Jackson's standards.

He was obviously thinking of her again as well. "What did you mean?"

"By what?" Lisa sighed, growing irritated and shifting in her seat. Melanie whimpered on her legs and Lisa stilled.

"You said that you saw who it was when I—found you, and you were relieved," he said assertively, the beginnings of a proud chauvinistic smile forming on his smug little mouth. "Relieved that it was me?"

"God, Jack, don't let that huge head knock you over," Lisa said disgustedly, wrinkling her nose. "I was happy that it wasn't a thug from your little club coming to kill me, that's all. I honestly feel safer with you because I know that if I took you down once I could do it again in a flash."

She expected the usual radiated egotistical offense at this point, but none came. He merely looked at her in his mirror, not bothering to hide his glee. "You had the advantage of distraction and the sympathetic public on your side then, Leese."

"I also know for a fact that although you're smart, Jackson, I'm smarter and this time, I have the advantage of being on the Missing Persons list. You, on the other hand, have to keep track not only of me, but of a temperamental three-year-old girl. All that estrogen against you is _not_ going to work in your favor."

"But having Melanie also hinders you," Jackson argued, and Lisa shook her head at how this so quickly was turning from analytical wordplay to a full-blown debate on who would 'win'. "I know you, and you won't leave her behind. That would be a black mark on your conscience. You managed to run away from me in the airport, Lisa, but I also had a pen crammed into my airways. Try getting away with thirty extra pounds straddling your back."

She hated to admit he was right and wracked her brain for anything she could draw up that would be a witty work against him.

Nothing.

Lisa succumbed herself to glowering, feeling younger than the child on her lap, as Jackson smiled triumphantly in the front seat and carried them farther from home.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait…I've been focusing most of my creativity on things that unfortunately take priority over this story. Luckily for me, I have friends—okay, playswithstars—who help push me back on track. A big thank you to her, then. D'okay. Here we go. Please read/review.

xx

_Beware the fury of a patient man.  
--Publius Syrus_

Jackson scowled and recoiled as a foot connected sharply with his lower back. It was beginning to feel quite familiar, that stinging ache in the good bottom portion of his body. Without pausing to stew, he coasted the car to a stop on the side of the interstate and furiously pivoted to stare venomously at his passengers.

Lisa blinked malignance back at him. "What?"

"You're sitting up front. Come on."

She crossed her arms over her chest, reminding him astonishingly of the three-year-old sitting next to her. "No way. I'd like to remain as far away from you as possible, thank you very much."

Jackson squinted detachedly at her. "Move it. Now."

She smirked challengingly, in a way that aggravated him but at the same time was intriguing. "And what if I don't?"

He chuckled, a hollow voice in the silent car. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Her determined gaze did not stray from Jackson's, matching his unrelenting stare with equal willpower. Once or twice he sensed Melanie also staring at him, but out of a vague sense of curiosity. He didn't bother to affirm his suspicion, or to worry about what people passing by on the I-10 might think, because that would mean breaking this battle of wills with Lisa. _I will never blink._ Eventually, Lisa's bottom lip curled indignantly and she looked away.

"We can do this as long as you like, Leese, but just know that the more time you spend trying to put yourself on Melanie's level, the longer she's separated from her family."

She grumbled something as she submitted and began to unbuckle. "Didn't catch that, Leese, would you care to repeat yourself?"

Lisa's head snapped up as she gripped the belt. "I said, and the longer I'm stuck with you."

Jackson threw his head back and laughed before unlocking the door for Lisa. "Good girl. And don't bother running."

Jackson expected nothing less than the theatrics from this woman—an annoyed screech and a door slam, perhaps, or at least some stomping. However Lisa proved him wrong as she quietly opened the passenger-side door and settled herself in the seat. She was far from complacent—he could nearly feel the furious heat radiating from her body—but she was silent.

He turned the radio on as he pulled the car back onto the main road, a local station playing jazz. "Smooth jazz, Leese." She stubbornly looked away as Jackson reminisced fondly.

That specific musical genre had had a large role in shaping the last year or so of Jackson's life. It wasn't just a description he'd casually tossed at Lisa to scare the living hell out of her, but more so a little something that had been his life entirely during the eight weeks he was watching Lisa. Sitting in his car a block from her house, there had been absolutely nothing to do but study her on his laptop and listen to the radio. For some reason, the only station that ever played without static in that area was one devoted to jazz alone. At the time, Jackson had hated the music with a passion and vowed never to turn on the radio, but after some time as his boredom grew, he grew curious and began to listen.

It wasn't just the lyrics that got to him—because sometimes there weren't any at all. It was something in the stark simplicity of it, something plain that rivaled the complexity of daily life. In a way it had reminded Jackson of Lisa—when everybody else was moving at a speed of twenty million miles per hour, Lisa was calm and quiet despite her obvious paranoia. His obsession with the music grew to almost surpassing his infatuation with Lisa, stretching to a point where he spent all of his time _not_ watching Lisa on the Internet looking up more jazz music. The remark to Lisa on the plane hadn't been in passing, because he couldn't count the hours he'd spent outside her house, blade strapped to his hip, listening to smooth jazz.

"I hungry," Mel whimpered abruptly from the backseat. Lisa finally looked at Jackson expectantly.

"Well?"

Jackson paused to glance at Mel in his mirror. "What do you expect me to do about it? She's a little too old and I'm a little too tired for breastfeeding, Leese."

Lisa laughed sardonically. "Did you seriously not think to bring any food for her? She's three. If she doesn't eat, she'll get angry and you'll be the one to suffer."

"I'm quaking." Jackson glanced at Lisa, and noticed she wasn't joking in the slightest. He sighed. "Fine, fine. Next gas station, since it's so important, she can find something. Happy?"

Lisa grinned. "Just _peachy_."

Jackson sighed, already mentally figuring how he could pull this off without arousing the suspicion of the gas station attendants or making it easy for Lisa to get away. He didn't really think there would be search notices up yet, considering how Lisa had gone missing overnight and it was still about an hour until dawn. But anybody _had_ been notified, for some odd reason, he wanted to be prepared.

And then there was the problem of getting them in and out of there without difficulty. Without _a lot_ of difficulty, Jackson reminded himself. With Lisa there was always going to be at least some measure of complexity, because she was just like one big walking Rubix Cube.

He could make them wait in the car, but judging from past experience, Lisa would either a) find a way to pick the locks and get out of the car or b) write a message on the window what whatever liquid she might be able to find. There really wasn't an option.

Jackson decided that he'd just have to bring them in with him and, if either of them caused any sort of trouble at all, well then….there'd be hell to pay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I am so incredibly sorry for the long wait! A big hug to playswithstars for the much needed advice on child behavior for this chapter, and thank you so much, reviewers! It means a lot! **

xx

Hang ideas! They are tramps, vagabonds, knocking at the back-door of your mind, each taking a little of your substance, each carrying away some crumb of that belief in a few simple notions you must cling to if you want to live decently and would like to die easy!  
--Joseph Conrad

Lisa made sure that she was the first person out of the car as the boxy contraption curbed to a stop outside of the twenty-four hour Shell Station. Her hand scrambled to its post on the door handle, which Jackson noticed with a heavily weighted sigh.

"What?"

"It's locked."

She scowled as he laggardly, tauntingly strolled around the front to her door. He smirked at her before unlocking it with the press of a button and pulling it open. Lisa instantly stuck her leg out, fully intent on breaking his toe, but he clutched her upper arm and crushed it tightly in his fingers, jolting her back to this reality.

She couldn't hurt him, or he would hurt her. Grimacing, she snapped, "What's your problem now?"

Jackson quickly scanned the parking lot before leaning back inside the car and whispering fiercely into her ear, "If you try anything, Leese, anything at all, inside that gas station, I will personally kill Melanie, and your cousin, and then I will kill you."

"With a request like that, how could I refuse?" Lisa replied sweetly, the sugar in her voice greatly contrasting the growling undertone in Jackson's. He leveled his eyes on her, in what she supposed was a method designed to scare her. It didn't. What once had been absolutely terrifying and haunting now did little more than to make her laugh. All pretense was gone—she saw Jackson for what he really was. A fluke. Even now as she peered at her reflection in his beryl eyes, her own face betrayed her, twisted up in a painful wince that spoke of her desire to laugh. Knowing how tight her boundaries were, however, Lisa contained herself.

Jackson released her arm with a sharp twist as he threw open Mel's door with great vim and vigor. "I'm getting sick of your snide little remarks, Lisa."

"And I'm getting sick of you." _Drumroll, please._

Jackson ignored her comment as he studied the sleeping three-year-old tucked into the backseat. Lisa rose on cramped legs and also surveyed the tiny girl. Her mouth was hanging slightly ajar, a thumb inserted delicately between her lips. A small bead of drool hung in a fragile balance between her lips and her chin. Lisa felt her heart break all over again for the poor little kid.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Lisa snapped finally, crossing her arms. "Are you going to move so I can help her out?"

"No." Jackson slammed the door shut again and pushed his hand into his back pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't bring her in that store," Jackson muttered detachedly. "It would draw too much attention."  
"Because bringing _me_ in the store wouldn't draw any at all," Lisa spat sarcastically. "Really, Jackson, you're not the brightest of all reptiles."

Simpering sardonically at her, he pushed a crumpled ten dollar bill into her palms. She looked curiously up at him. "That's why I'm not bringing you in there. Did you really think I wouldn't have thought of this before? Melanie Keefe is probably the most recognized child in the United States, after her siblings and the presidents' children. If she's spotted with a man nobody knows and a woman reported missing--"

"It's four in the morning, Jack," Lisa rolled her eyes. "Nobody who likes me is up yet. Because they're _sane._"

He ignored her. "Doing that would be suicidal for me, and in consequence, for you."

"So you're finally thinking about somebody other than yourself. I'm touched."

Jackson clutched her chin, his fingernails cutting harshly into her skin. Lisa attempted to stumble away, but his grip was unrelenting. "Let me--"

"I'm staying here with Melanie, Lisa. I will be watching you. If you do _anything-_"

"You'll kill Melanie, Tanya, and me," Lisa offered callously. "Have you ever thought of investing in a thesaurus?"

Jackson pushed her away, and Lisa quickly scraped the money back up from the ground where it had fallen in the latest scuffle. She waggled her fingers churlishly at him before hurrying into the store.

Jackson scrubbed the fuzz that was beginning to sprout up on his chin as he absently twiddled with the dials on the radio. This was becoming way too commonplace an activity for him, and he detested the recurring de ja vu. Sighing, he settled on NPR. Not necessarily the smooth jazz he favored, but it was a hell of a lot better than the pointless wailing of the metal station. These small towns and their bad reception was absolutely killing him.

The creature in the backseat suddenly made a noise, scaring Jackson out of his wits. Petulant hotel managers, angry mobsters, ruthless dictators he could deal with, but three-year-old Barbie fans? Not so much. He was positive that if Lisa wore Pull-Ups and sported pigtails he'd be quaking in her presence, as well.

It didn't help that she kind of smelled, as well. He'd spirited her away from her family only about six hours ago, and granted he hadn't taken her to a restroom during that time, but what was up with the recent stench? Shouldn't she be trained enough to know when she needed to go? Weren't three-year-olds typically out of diapers by that age?

Jackson peered back at her, and jumped out of his skin when he saw her staring right back at him. Her thumb was still crammed hungrily inside of her mouth, and she was slurping nervously, her eyes wide in fear. She reminded him of a squirrel. What a repulsive creature. "Lisa is getting you food."

He was hoping his primal answer would be enough to quell her curiosity, but it only proved to pique it as her eyes continued to dilate. _Oh, shit. _"Where's my daddy?"

Jackson bit his lip as her face began to crumple. "With your mommy." _Brilliant answer, Jack. Do you really think she'll be satisfied with your sarcasm? She's three. She apparently doesn't even know how to use a toilet yet._

Melanie's mouth fell open and she began to wail, in a way that Jackson could only think of to describe as like a banshee. Without hesitation, he reached out to console her. With a heightened scream, she drew back further into the seat. He wondered if she was breathing at all as her face turned beet red and tears coursed down her face. "Stop crying!"

Melanie rocked back and forth as she screeched in anguish for her parents. "Stop crying…_please!"_

He racked his brain for ideas of what to do, his fingers getting shakier by the minute. It wasn't just that he was nervous that somebody could detect them—the parking lot was totally deserted—it was merely that she was scaring the living daylights out of him.

Should he threaten her? Jackson reached for his knife, before realizing that, as a three-year-old, it was highly unlikely that Melanie would grasp the seriousness of the situation. He began to panic as he stretched out his hand and reached for her hair, a gesture that was meant to be comforting. She snapped at him and Jackson drew away, staring at his hand. _She fucking bit me? _

He ignored the small droplets of blood—yes, the brat had drawn blood—and with another look at the spawn of Satan, realized what he had to do. Without further hesitation, he threw open his door and, making sure to securely lock the doors behind him, sprinted inside to the service station.


	10. Chapter 10

When you realize you've made a mistake, make amends immediately. It's easier to eat crow while it's still warm.--Dan Heist

xxxx

After asking for the location, Lisa first shuffled to the ladies' room inside the dank service station. It was there that she weighed her options.

Escape was possible if mapped out correctly—but only for herself. Despite her small relation and knowledge of Melanie, Lisa was entirely unwilling to leave an innocent three-year-old in the hands of a man whom she believed to be stark-raving mad. It was bad enough that she'd been forced to desert the two in the parking lot, but it was that or have Mel go hungry—and who knew how long it would be before they ate again?

There was a mirror and soap. There was a window. There was a small ray of hope that Lisa could pull this off, but she shook every inclination away. No. There would be a better opportunity later—hopefully, if she were still alive—when Jackson would be unsuspicious and Mel close by. Lisa carried about her business and washed her hands, studying herself in the mirror.

It was slightly distorted, as the mirror was dirty and smudged from lack of maintenance, but even that couldn't make Lisa neglect the fact that she looked terrible. Her hair was wild and uncombed, mussed from her brief sleep and from Jackson's manhandling. Her skin was blotchy and red from her struggles and headache, and her eyes looked watery. She'd surprised herself by not crying all that much in the past few hours. The time in the theater had been her peak—and then she was busy trying to contain herself so as not to notify Jackson of her weakness. Now, she didn't even feel the need for tears. She was just tired.

This wasn't exactly desirable or normal, Lisa realized with a sigh. Ten years ago, fresh out of high school, she never would have predicted that she'd be a hotel manager held captive by a maniacal assassin with a cranky three-year-old. It sounded like some terrible alcohol-induced nightmare after a night of barhopping. How she wished that was all it was!

But it wasn't, it was reality. And even though it was a horrible reality that she knew nobody should ever have to face, she needed to stop dwelling on how awful it was and figure a way out of it. No problems ever were solved by sulking and moping about, Lisa knew that probably greater than anybody. She took a deep, relaxing breath and stepped back outside.

"You have got to stop doing that!" Lisa yelped as Jackson blocked her exit and roughly pushed her back against the doorway. He glanced in paranoia over his shoulder at the dozing cashier and spun Lisa around, gripping her elbow and pulling her to his body. She didn't bother to futilely struggle but let out a sigh of bitter annoyance as he whispered into her ear. They awkwardly began to move to the aisles.

"She won't shut up," Jackson said. Lisa turned from the rack of snack foods to stare at him.

"What are you talki--"

"Melanie!" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. Lisa rolled her eyes and grabbed a few packages of snack cakes from the shelf and studied them. "She won't stop crying!"

"You know, they really don't have anything nutritious here whatsoever," Lisa complained, pushing past Jackson to the back where a few vertical coolers stood.

"Lisa!" Jackson snatched at her sleeve, slowing her process slightly. She spun around to face him, waving her hands in the air.

"What?" she cried. "What do you possibly want me to do about it? You were probably being an asshole."

Dumbstruck, Jackson yanked the foods from Lisa's hands. "I wasn't doing anything!"

"You kidnapped her."

"Lisa…" Jackson whined. "Help me."

"Why was she crying?" Lisa submitted irritably. "What provoked it? When I came in here, she was fast asleep. Obviously something upset her, or you wouldn't be in here."

"I didn't do anything," he insisted. Lisa glared at him, propelling him forwards. "I'm serious! She was sleeping, and I started to listen to the radio and turned around and she was staring at me, Lisa! It was creepy, I was about ready to call a freaking exorcist or something. I swear that kid is possessed. She was just looking at me, so I looked back at her, and she started screaming bloody murder! I tried to comfort her, but she wouldn't--"

"You are such a fucking idiot!"

Lisa, a few bottled apple juices in hand, pushed past Jackson, wrinkling her nose in contempt. She pounded all the way to the front register, where she slammed the products down on the counter. The cashier awoke with a jolt and, blinking furiously as if to rectify her quick doze, began quickly typing into the cash register. Lisa spun back around to face Jackson, and it was obvious that her intensity frightened him, as he took a few steps backwards.

It was then that Lisa noticed how incredibly vulnerable he happened to look at the moment. His face had softened with humility, his features sagging in disappointment and worry, his eyes turned downward. Instead of the cold, hardened killer she knew he liked to think of himself as, he appeared frightened, anxious, and desperate. It almost made her not hate him as much, but only almost.

"Lisa, you have to help me!" Jackson pleaded. "She's horrible!"

"I don't have to do anything, Jackson," Lisa replied, rudely shoving the money across the counter at the cashier. Startled, the girl quickly made change. "You put yourself in this position and dragged me into it as well. I don't feel obligated to do a single thing. She's your problem."

Jackson's face crumpled as they left. "But she likes you!"

"She doesn't know me. I just don't happen to carry a loaded gun with me everywhere I go. That's typically an endearing quality."

"Please!"

Lisa turned to face him as the door swung shut behind them. His face, haloed in an orange glow from the rising sun behind them, was not only distressed but also strangely meek. "Are you seriously pleading with me to help you?"

Jackson scowled and muttered, "Yeah."

Lisa smirked. "I don't think so." Before Jackson could say another word, she was back at the car and staring into the backseat. When she peeked in and took a hesitant look at Mel, she couldn't help but explode into hysterics.

"Regular old spitfire right here, Jackson," Lisa giggled as Jackson breathlessly joined her and winced in anticipation. He opened his eyes.

"She was screaming and crying and raising hell three minutes ago," Jackson insisted dazedly. "I swear it!"

"Of course," Lisa laughed, opening the backdoor and climbing in beside an extremely placid Mel. The child looked up at her with expectant, yet calm and peaceful, coffee-colored eyes. Lisa pulled a snack cake from the bag and tore it open, handing its contents to the all-too eager three-year-old. "I'll take your word for it."

Jackson angrily slammed the door and stomped morosely around to his side of the car, where he crawled in and buckled up. "Shut up."

Lisa began to eat, her face turning red as she continued to chuckle. "You are such a moron."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry for the long update wait! Thank God for awesome people like playswithstars who help get me back on track. Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait, but as always, no guarantees. Let me know of anything that should be added/removed/changed, and as always, thank you for reviewing.

_A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes.  
--Hugh Downs_

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The Escort coasted over a large rut in the poorly paved road, and the impact of the minor collision caused the car to rattle and the seats to shake. Lisa's head slammed off the back of her seat, and she rubbed it tenderly while all the while Jackson appeared not to have noticed.

"I hate this car," she grunted, "with a furious, furious passion."

He ignored her, which did nothing to help her already sour mood. It was one thing for him to be a generalized asshole, but it was another for him to block her out completely. "Helloooo?" she snapped. "Did you even hear me?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Why? Was your whining relevant for once?"

Lisa rolled her eyes, satisfied that he had acknowledged her but put-out at his answer. "Ha ha. You're a regular Jim Carrey."

"Well, I try."

It had been at least three hours since they'd last stopped. It had been, according to the clock, approximately two hours and fifty six minutes since Jackson had last spoken. Time had passed lethargically, Mel complaining every now and then that she was bored. Patty-cake and I Spy only sustained pleasure for so long before Lisa was forced to surrender and leave Mel to her own devices with one of Jackson's ties that had been deserted in the back seat. He hadn't noticed yet, but really, it was only a matter of time before he noticed the large red marks of what Mel claimed to be a giraffe dancing across his tie. There had been a pen on the floor, too.

"What are you thinking about?" Lisa asked Jackson curiously. It wasn't necessarily that she cared what he thought, it was more or less because she was worried that he was being so quiet for a bad reason. He'd never been so introverted before, at least not around her.

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing sharply at her in the rearview mirror. "Is it really any of your business?"

"I asked you first."

He scowled. "Since when do you talk so much?"

"Since when do you talk so little?" Lisa grinned. Two could definitely play this game. If she had one goal for the duration of her stay with Jackson, it was to piss him off as badly as possible without ultimately driving him over the edge. A flustered Jackson was fun, but a violent one was not.

"I've never been an extremely talkative person," Jackson answered, with a highly shocking level of civility. So civil, in fact, that it was disappointing. Lisa liked to test her boundaries. "I just have a tendency to run my mouth around you."

"And why is that?"

He hesitated, clearly considering his words before replying, "You piss me off. Can't control myself."

"Glad to be of service."

They fell into another long, awkward silence after that, only broken when Jackson veered an unexpected left onto an exit ramp. Lisa had been following her surroundings very carefully from the moment they'd left the gas station, and realized now that they were somewhere in mid-Mississippi She wasn't sure exactly of the town, but now, as an illuminated green sign proclaimed, they were, ironically, in the city of Jackson.

"Are you pulling off here just to remind me of what your name is, or is there actually a purpose of this exit?"

Jackson smirked. "There's a purpose." Uh-oh. Lisa didn't like the look on his face. Actually, she didn't like his face, but the particular expression was most disconcerting.

"Such as…?"

He didn't reply, just continued steering them down a series of streets before finally coasting to a stop on Capital Street. Lisa looked up then, at the decrepit train station before them, and scowled.

"A train? Jackson, are you _serious_?"

"Shut up a second." He rolled down his window as a uniformed young man jogged up to the car. "Parking garage?"

The man nodded and wagged a finger down another street to the left of the building. Lisa realized the pointlessness of trying to attract the man's attention, as he took only a fleeting glance into the backseat before turning back to Jackson. Clearly the man was a proud misogynist, as his primary focus of attention was on the 'wealthy businessman' giving his train station business. Lisa and Mel would just be delirious little nuisances if they tried to get help. "Right that way, sir."

"Thanks." Jackson didn't bother to roll his window back up, letting the warm Mississippi air blow into the car as he drove into the insultingly small parking garage and parked. Lisa's hair, which had been chaotic before, was now a horrid mess, which she noticed as she caught her reflection in the window. She found herself not caring much as Jackson tossed her a brush.

"What?"

"Brush your hair," he replied absently, not looking at her while he began to gather his things. "I can't afford to have this job ruined just because you look like a homeless woman. Do the kid's, too, after, would you?"

Lisa quickly ran it through her hair before cocking her head at Jackson's back. "The _kid?_ She's not deaf, Jackson. She has a name. How would you feel if I just called you The Guy?"

"No skin off my back," he grumbled, transferring an impressive wad of cash into his wallet from his briefcase.

"Okay, then," Lisa answered sullenly. "I'll remember that." She turned to Mel, smiling. "Is it okay if I brush your hair, sweetie? I'll be gentle." Mel nodded shyly and turned around.

Lisa used a hair tie that Mel had around her tiny wrist to make a neat ponytail for the girl, as her hair was extremely dirty. Mel fingered the new style when Lisa was finished, and looked approvingly up at her. Lisa smiled happily, pleased, if only for a moment, that she had finally done something right.

Jackson hopped out of the car and pulled open Lisa's door first. "By the way, Jackson, what do you plan on doing if somebody recognizes Mel?" she asked as she stepped stiffly from the car. She walked in a circle for a moment to relieve the tension in her cramped legs.

Jackson shook his head. "They won't. And if they do, do you honestly think they'll say anything? They can call in a sighting, sure, but we'll be long gone by then. Most people don't even know the kid exists, let alone what she looks like." Lisa hated to admit it, but he had a point. For starters, she hadn't even known of Mel's being before that day. The only hope in this Amtrak station was her, and praying that somebody would spot her and try to help based on her former status as national hero.

"Holy fuck!"

Lisa spun around, livid at Jackson's excess use of profanity in the presence of a toddler. "Jackson, don't swear around--" She trailed off guiltily as she saw him holding the tie in his hands, cradling it like a dead childhood pet. "Well, she did say she was bored."

"Lisa, dammit!"

"Jackson, don't--"

"I don't _care_ about my language, Lisa, look what she did to my tie! I was going to _wear_ this tie!"

"As opposed to…what, eating it?"

He ignored her snappy remarks and continued to yell. "Do you realize how much this costs?" he turned his vengeance suddenly on Mel, as if abruptly realizing that she was the perpetrator of the crime. "This is an Armani tie! It cost over two hundred dollars!"

Mel's lip quivered in preparation for tears, and Lisa sighed as she walked over and scooped her up. Mel instantly pressed her face into Lisa's chest. "Jackson, seriously. If you want to make a scene, this is a fantastic way of getting yourself caught. It's a tie, for crying out loud. Life goes on. You can still wear it."

"Lisa," he growled slowly, waving the tie at her. _At least he's not yelling anymore,_ Lisa said thankfully as Mel trembled in her arms. "It has a drawing of a goddamn—hippopotamus or something on it."

"It's a giraffe."

Jackson just glared at her, then at Mel's back, before rolling his eyes and slamming the door. He stuffed the tie into his back pocket before grabbing Lisa's arm. She accepted this without protestation, not wishing to rile him further.

Mel raised her head in Lisa's arms and Lisa brushed a stray hair out of the girl's teary face. "I'm scared," she whispered, quietly enough so that only Lisa herself could hear.

"Don't worry," Lisa answered, looking up at Jackson's tense face as they stepped aboard an escalator to the Amtrak station. She almost laughed at his disgruntled expression. Here, a renowned international assassin known for being so cool and collected, losing his temper over a three-year-old. She grinned.

"The Guy is just being stupid."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: I really am sorry for the long update wait, I am. But, as fate may have it, I suck at life and probably always will. So get used to the long waits. :D Okay, then. Here we have it, for your viewing pleasure, the next installment of my little story. **

_Success is getting and achieving what you want. Happiness is wanting and being content with what you get.  
--Bernard Meltzer_

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Jackson, for crying out loud, will you _slow down?_" Lisa cried, breathing heavily. Jackson rolled his eyes as he glanced back at her and saw Mel slowly sliding down Lisa's sweaty leg. Lisa instantly saw where he was looking and forcefully hitched the girl back up, the girl's knobby knees hitching up the bottom of Lisa's shirt. Jackson smirked and shook his head, peeling his eyes away from the strip of skin exposed and forcing himself to think about the task at hand and not about methods of slipping his hand from Lisa's wrist to that perfect patch of milky skin.

"Pick up the pace, Leese!" Jackson growled instead, quickening his steps and pushing all thoughts of seducing his captive from his mind. This was a job, after all, not a frat party. "You used to be an athlete, this shouldn't be anything unusual for you."

"I never actually _liked_ being an athlete," Lisa groused, and then added, "And I also didn't have a three-year-old clinging to me out on that field."

For the time being, he ignored her, looking around for their platform. The station was badly organized, and appallingly equipped. In the early-morning rush, the chaos was anarchic, and Jackson gave himself a metaphoric pat on the back for ordering the tickets ahead of time. Now, the only problem that remained was finding out where the hell he was supposed to go, and the tension was heightened with the worry of a civilian recognizing Lisa or Melanie and getting a bit mouthy.

He spotted a rack of maps near a decrepit kiosk and wordlessly steered his estrogen-laden cargo to a table nearby. Lisa instantly wrenched her arm away from him in his moment of distraction, and he watched as she contemplated the area. Initially, she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sticky chairs, and instead set Mel on top of the rickety table, turning then to massage her sore shoulders.

"I have a question," Lisa said, pressing her thumb to what Jackson surmised as a particularly achy spot. "We're at an _Amtrak station._ Why didn't we just go to the one in Miami? We wouldn't have had to drive."

"Lisa…" Jackson sighed, yet again cantankerous with her endless supply of meaningless questions. "Think about it. Leaving from Miami would be the simple thing to do, I agree. But not with two people who will very likely soon have their photos plastered all over the media."

Lisa scowled at him. "Where are we going, anyway?"

Jackson threw a map at her from the rack. "Here. Take your pick."

"You're really going to let me choose?" Lisa frowned, her forehead crinkling in a disgustingly cutesy way.

"No," he answered, thumbing through the brochure, contemplating a horribly coordinated map of the station. "Just thought it would keep you occupied for more than five seconds. You'll find out where we're going when we get there."

Jackson was running a finger along the map and trying to pinpoint his exact location when he heard a noise from Lisa. He looked up and saw her scooting up onto the table with Melanie, humming something. "What are you doing now?"

"_There is no way of knowing, which way we are going,"_ she sang, drawing the attention of several tourists walking past. They laughed and waved a hand at her, the crazy woman sitting loftily on a broken table. Jackson snorted.

"What the fuck is _that_?"

"Jackson!" she hissed, jumping from the table and striking him smartly across the face. "Language!"

The slap had hurt his pride more than his cheek, but nevertheless Jackson found himself seething with anger, not necessarily at Lisa, but at himself. Why he was allowing his mind to get so worked up over some insipid hotel manager, he wasn't sure. All the same, Jackson discovered that he nearly had to hold his hands down to keep from throttling her. "Lisa, darling," he forced out, summoning a toothy grin. "Your little antics don't hurt me at _all,_ but I'm not sure that your cousin will feel the same way."

Seemingly out of nowhere, Melanie burst into tears, and Lisa tore her determined gaze away from his to tend to her. She scooped the girl into her arms, wincing as the extra weight strained her obviously tender muscles and patted her back. "Seriously, Jackson, you're _scaring _her. She clearly doesn't like your profanity, and that grin was absolutely terrifying. And I was just starting to get her calmed down, too."

He meant to tell Lisa exactly what she could do with his profanity when her second accusation demanded his full attention. "How was my grin terrifying?" Jackson ducked his head to peer out a window and reenacted his smile. He stopped. Hm. Maybe she was right. He did look like a hungry cougar. "Honestly, Lisa, just leave her alone. Stop coddling her. She's not a baby."

"She's three," Lisa said patiently, as if not Melanie but Jackson were the toddler. "But in the presence of somebody like you, anybody would be creeped out."

"I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult," he snickered, tightening the strap on his laptop bag and choosing to accept it as the former. After all those years of striving for cold professionalism, a level of 'creepiness' was certainly quite a triumph. "What were you singing, anyway? It was obnoxious."

"I don't know what it's called," she grumbled crossly. "Gene Wilder sang it once. In a movie."

Jackson nodded, calming down. It was a bit ironic, he noted, how most of his anger had suddenly filtered into Lisa. He didn't mind too much, certainly an upset Lisa was safer than his violence.

"Come on." Jackson turned and reached out for Lisa's wrist. She obliged, hesitating only momentarily to reattach Melanie to her hip, but he hadn't led them three steps before she halted again.

"You need to apologize to her."

He sighed and turned only his head, not bothering to pivot his body to face her. "What?"

"You made her cry," Lisa elucidated simply. "That renders an apology, don't you think? Come on. Don't you feel bad at all?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," he mumbled sheepishly, wondering why he was giving into Lisa's demand without even questioning her inexplicable authority. It made no sense, really, that she order him around despite his power over her life. So why he was he giving into her absurd request? He had no idea. But he chose, at that moment, not to argue something so insipid, and turned mockingly to Melanie, saying with a fake sugary sweetness, "I'm sorry, Miss Melanie, really, I am. I'm sorry that I'm such a terrific asshole, and I'm sorry that Lisa feels so attached to you. Okay? Sorry."

Before Lisa could chastise Jackson's foul language again, Melanie's face crumpled. _Oh God,_ Jackson predetermined, bracing himself for the coming storm, _she's going to start bawling again. Damn kid._ Instead, she scrunched up her nose and closed her eyes and—bleh.

Lisa guffawed heartily as Jackson closed his eyes and reached into his jacket pocket, tenderly extracting a Kleenex and sliding it over his face. Melanie sniffled. "Sorry," she mumbled to Lisa as Jackson turned away to wipe the excrement from his cheeks.

"This is fucking ridiculous," he muttered to himself as he scrubbed at his already raw skin, listening to Lisa and Melanie chuckling at his expense behind him. He wished he had some sort of instant bathing mechanism available and suddenly remembered the small bottle of hand sanitizer he kept in his laptop bag. He turned, hand outstretched to pull it out, and mouth prepared to utter a harsh reprisal at both Lisa and Melanie when he realized his mistake.

"God­_damit_!" he yelled, grabbing his bag and flinging it back over his shoulder. Lisa looked once behind her as she darted up the stairs, Melanie hung around her neck, and Jackson met her gaze. She looked smug and haughty, yet somewhere under that prideful look, Jackson detected her true emotion.

She was terrified, as she rightly should be. When he got ahold of her—and, he noted to himself as he broke into a sprint, that would be when, not if—she would not smile again for a long, long time.


	13. Chapter 13

_When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.  
--Helen Keller_

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Two years ago, Lisa used to run a mile daily. That routine had come to an abrupt halt after the parking lot incident, but for some reason she'd never taken great notice of it. Not in all that time, not until now, as her lungs burned and her calves throbbed in an effort to stay upright and speeding through the airport.

She hated to admit it, but she was out of shape. With the extra forty or so pounds straddling her back and the intensity with which she'd been sprinting at for the past five minutes, she couldn't keep this up much longer. Lisa's only option was to find a safe haven, somewhere she could hide out and get help before Jackson could catch up to her. It was a given that she'd be punished for her antics, but Lisa was nervous that he'd take out some of his temper on Mel or possibly Tanya, and that was certainly the last thing she wanted. Losing to Jackson, losing _again,_ was not an option.

Mel was crying. Lisa felt trapped; there was no way she could comfort the girl without ceasing her footsteps altogether. Therefore she merely accepted the wails of anguish from the child and the disdainful looks that every single woman in the airport sent her way. Finally, feeling like every single formerly available pocket of air in her body had disappeared, Lisa was forced to stop and slow her pace to a brisk walk.

She was faced with two inflexible choices. Whichever one she chose she would be required to stick with regardless of whether it worked or not. She could find a place to hide and stay there until she was positive that the coast was clear, or seek help from an authority figure in the train station. Of course, neither plan was entirely foolproof. Jackson could find them despite how secure Lisa thought a hiding place to be, or a human source may not believe Lisa's pleas for help and write her off as a crazy woman.

Control-freak that she was, Lisa opted to hide rather than place her trust in a security guard. Basically, the choices were in a restroom (and she had not had positive lavatory experiences in the past) behind a potted plant (and really, how infallible would _that_ be?) or potentially in a janitor's closet, if she could find one quickly enough.

The closet it was, then.

"Mel, please, sweetie," Lisa murmured to the girl, sliding her to an easier—though still not exactly painless—position on her hip. "Calm down. It's going to be alright, okay?"

"S-scared," Mel hiccupped, still sobbing uncontrollably despite Lisa's best efforts to console her (which was no easy feat partnered with continually scanning the station for Jackson).

"I know you're scared, babe," Lisa said, and then, lying, "But there's nothing to be scared of. But you have to be quiet for a minute, okay, so Lisa can think."

Mel rubbed her eyes and nodded miserably. "I miss my mommy."

"I know you do, sweetheart, and I'm sorry. But can you do this for me, for your mommy? Can you be a good girl for a few minutes?"

Mel nodded again and Lisa, finally having visually secured a hiding place, searched the area once more and, finding that it was clear, briskly trotted to a marked door a few meters from where she'd paused. With some stroke of luck, the door was unlocked, and Lisa and Melanie slipped easily inside into a darkened storage room serving the café perpendicular to it.

It was frigidly cold inside the spacious room that Lisa had originally mistaken to be a janitor's closet, and awfully large. That sort of space frightened her with the heightened chance of an intruder, but also intrigued her in that there was more area to hide. As her eyes began to accustom to the darkness, Lisa silently slipped past rows and rows of stacked boxes in pursuit of a worthy hideaway. Letting Mel walk freely, Lisa glided behind a tall line of ominous-looking piled goods and crouched in her newly found hiding place.

Mel whimpered again in the dark, so Lisa pulled the girl closer to her body and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Melanie, honey," Lisa whispered in her ear, feeling the petrified child trembling in her embrace, "Do you want to play a game?"

Mel sniffled and nodded.

"Okay, here's how you play," Lisa said quietly. "It's called 'Giraffe.' When I say 'Giraffe', the winner is the person who can stay quiet the longest. It's very easy. If you win, you get a prize."

Mel cocked her head at Lisa, curiosity piqued and fear mostly forgotten. "What prize?"

"I don't know," Lisa said. "What would you like?"

"Ice cream."

Lisa smiled, despite knowing that Melanie wouldn't see it, and despite the terror that was currently wracking her body. "Ice cream it is, then. Okay, ready?" Mel nodded again. "One, two, three, giraffe."

The only sounds after that were Mel's uneven, congested breathing and Lisa's anxious inhalations. The silence lasted for what Lisa felt to be about ten minutes, the only disturbance being when a small spider crawled onto Mel's ankle and Lisa had to attempt to brush it away without knocking anything over. Despite that, no words were exchanged and the game continued.

Lisa was beginning to think the coast was clear when suddenly a crack of light spilled into the room, casting an eerie glow over the packages. She pulled Mel closer, hoping beyond hope that it was merely a stock boy. Apparently Mel knew what she needed to do, and it seemed that even her breathing quieted in the tension. Lisa tilted her head a fraction of an inch to the side, and peered out into the room from a gap between two boxes.

The labored breathing and the noise of dress shoes tapping on the linoleum confirmed Lisa's worst fears, and so she covered Mel's eyes with her hand before stealing another look between the boxes. She clapped her other hand over her mouth to hold back a cry of anguish as Jackson slid stealthily about the room, his eyes as alert as a hawk's.

Lisa found herself praying despite her agnostic upbringing. _Please, please, God or whoever you are,_ she said silently, squeezing her eyes shut, _Don't let Jackson find us. Please._

Lisa looked down just in time to see another spider, this time larger, inching its way towards Melanie's leg. She didn't dare move her hand to swat it away for fear of attracting Jackson's attention, and just watched as it climbed up her ankle and ascended her leg. Lisa felt Mel's entire body tense and squeezed the girl tighter, silently urging her not to cry out. _Giraffe giraffe giraffe…_

There was the sound of Jackson's footsteps changing direction, heading back towards the door. Lisa peered from the crack and did see him opening the door. She relaxed slightly when she heard it slam shut and the footsteps ceased and took a breath. Mel wrenched herself from Lisa's gasp and whined loudly, brushing the spider from her calf. Before Lisa could react, boxes were raining down around her and Mel and she leapt to her feet as goods scattered to the floor around her.

There wasn't even time to contemplate the situation or what had brought it about before she was being lifted by her collar and slammed against the wall behind her. Mel screamed and ducked away from the scene as Lisa battled for air.

"Think you're pretty fuckin' smart, do you, Leese?" Jackson hissed into her face, squeezing her throat more tightly. "Think it's intelligent to try and run away from me when I have tabs on your cousin's life?"

"Go….die…" Lisa managed, thrashing her head in an attempt to release herself. Her vision was already dimming, but she desperately searched the room for Mel. Where had she gone?

"I could kill you, Lisa, and not think twice," Jackson threatened in a low growl. "Just give me one reason, one reason not to."

_Mel…get help…_ Lisa felt herself drifting away into what could be a permanent state of unconsciousness, and just as her last hopes for survival disappeared, Jackson released her and she fell brusquely to the floor, landing in a heap. Weakened, she attempted to pick herself back up but saw stars and collapsed again. "Mel…"

There was a muffled noise from near the door, and try as Lisa might to open her eyes and see what had caused the commotion, every effort was in vain as her eyelids throbbed and her damaged body flopped to the floor again. When a tiny, frightened cry penetrated the air, Lisa moaned, desperate to rise, but unable to.

Everything went silent a moment later, and nothing moved spare the thick tears sliding down Lisa's face. She opened her eyes briefly to see Jackson's shoes tapping back across the floor, returning to her, and squeezed her eyes shut in tense anticipation of what was to come. A swift kick connected with her abdomen and the pain was so intense, so excruciating that Lisa couldn't do anything, not even scream. She curled into a ball and tried to catch her breath before another blow, but none came.

Instead, Jackson's cool, infuriated voice pierced her ears when he demanded, "Get up, Leese."

"I…can't…"

"Get _up._" His tone of voice implied that there was no alternative.

Lisa forced her eyes open, trembling as she attempted to press a flimsy hand to the cold linoleum. She slowly pulled herself to a sitting position before she began to feel herself drifting away again, and as she swayed Jackson emitted a grunt of impatience and grabbed her arm, forcing her to her feet. He shoved her against the wall and she clung to it dizzily, attempting to regain focus and find Melanie.

She watched, transfixed, as Jackson callously scooped Mel's unconscious body from the floor and into his arms, tossing her easily over his shoulder. It seemed so innocent, Mel's body slumped against Jackson's, so unsuspicious, that if Lisa's better judgment hadn't been screaming against it, she would merely have thought the girl was asleep. But she knew different, and she whimpered.

"Jesus Christ, Lisa, she's just sedated," Jackson grunted angrily. "Get over it. Now come on, and if you so much as look at me wrong your cousin is dead."

Grateful that Melanie was not dead, Lisa stumbled to follow Jackson. He grabbed her arm and dragged her effortlessly from the room, making sure that they weren't spotted. Lisa sighed desolately as she realized that in her struggle to escape, she'd succeeded only in leading Jackson to their platform. It was a mere twelve feet from the closet, and they boarded the train less than five minutes after leaving the storage area. Observing Jackson's commands and threats, Lisa stayed close and silent, trying not to cry.

She sat between Melanie and Jackson in a three-seat row, but turned away from Jackson to look out the window as the train began to move. It would have been a momentous moment if the circumstances were different; Lisa had never been on a train before. She began to cry again as the conductor's announcements rolled smoothly over the speakers.

"…hope you enjoyed lovely Jackson, Mississippi. Please sit back and relax on what I anticipate to be a smooth trip to Jackson, Michigan."

Lisa groaned. "You have got to be kidding me."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: So, yeah, I know that I'm a terrible person because I haven't updated in 23982398 years, and I'm sorry, but I've been very busy. But now that's summer here and I am once again jobless, I hope to update lots more (if my writers block stays away!). So yeah, enjoy the chapter, and please review.

xx

The brightest future will always be based on a  
forgotten past, you can't go on well in life until you  
let go of your past failures and heartaches.

_-Unknown_

xx

"…some water?"

Lisa dejectedly raised her head and stared blankly at Jackson, croaking, "What?"

Jackson didn't bother looking up from his laptop for a second glance at her. "Do you want some water?"

"I'm fine."

"You look like you're going to be sick."

Sardonically, Lisa turned her head to him and narrowed her eyes, hissing bitterly, "Well, I wonder why."

Jackson smirked, his eyes still glued to his computer screen and whatever he was typing. His fingers didn't hesitate on the keys as he implied, "Motion sickness."

"Sure," Lisa rolled her eyes and gently ran a hand through Mel's ponytail, combing a tangle out with her fingers as the girl slept on Lisa's shoulder. "Tell me again what kind of effect these drugs you gave her will ultimately have."

"Leese…"

Lisa dug her fingernails into his arm, growling imploringly, "_Tell me._"

Jackson growled in pain, shaking Lisa's hands from his arm as he slammed his laptop shut. He turned to face her, his body hiding her own from the public eye. Blue eyes boring into her own, "You need to calm down. You're attracting more attention to yourself than is healthy for Melanie, or, come to think of it, your _cousin._"

Lisa's lip trembled as she attempted to control herself, tears prickling in her eyes. "Stop _doing_ this, Jackson. Why did you have to come back? Why me?"

"Oh, poor me, a man is actually giving me attention for once," Jackson mocked, his fingers seeking revenge on Lisa's wrists as his nails bit into the soft, fleshy skin. She winced, holding back a moan but narrowing her eyes lividly at him as he danced around such a sensitive issue. "Tell me, do you have as much fun with our little adventures as I do?"

Lisa thrashed violently within his grasp, her hair swinging into her eyes and probably his own, ceasing to care that she was 'attracting attention to herself.' "Let me go, Jackson! Of course I don't enjoy being with you, I mean--"

"Being with me?" Jackson interjected, smirking as a laugh escaped his lips. "I didn't realize you embodied that sort of affection, Leese. Shall we begin ring-shopping, then?"

"Would you _quit it!_" she screamed. It could have been her imagination, but Lisa suddenly noticed how quiet the rest of the passengers seemed to be. Jackson must have noticed the same thing, as he turned his head fiercely to survey the curious passengers, playfully rolling his eyes to wave off any suspicions they might have had. The noise began to restore itself to its original level.

"So you know, Lisa, I'm getting dangerously close to making that call that will subsequently end your cousin's life," Jackson hissed into her ear, so quiet that she could barely hear him. "Do you really feel like attending a closed-casket ceremony when and if you return home?"

"I wouldn't mind attending _yours,_" Lisa answered snappishly, avoiding any thoughts of the possibility of her cousin's death. Not now. She couldn't afford another breakdown now. Not with Mel in stake. "And just so you know, Jackson, I'm getting dangerously close to killing you myself."

"Killing me?" Jackson chortled, his eyes still angry, as if laughing only to try and calm the situation. "That seems a little extreme. And a little impractical. Tell me, Leese, how exactly do you plan to act on _that_ little whim?"

"It wouldn't be hard," she replied smoothly, knowing that he knew how absurd she was being. "Nobody would miss you."

"Funny, I seem to remember saying the same thing to _you_," Jackson said, his face red with anger as if he were a child struck with fury at having his favorite phrase stolen. "Only in my case, it's not true. See, if you were to kill me—unlikely, but I'll play along—the people I work with would come after you. Why? Because 'they miss me'. You wouldn't last long, not even with one of those silly restraining orders that whiny little hotel managers like yourself seem so fond of."

"I don't think it would matter, so long as I could experience the satisfaction of killing you myself," Lisa answered viciously, shocking herself with the murderous lilt in her voice. She cast her eyes downward and Jackson seized her chin in his hand, shocking her by how timid the act could appear yet actually be quite forceful.

"Tell me, Lisa, why such sudden aggression?" Jackson purred derisively. "Did your rapist experience the same pleasure? Oh, excuse me, pardon the pun." As he grinned self-satisfactorily, Lisa trembled violently in his grasp, wanting more than anything to hit him, to scratch him…to bite him, anything.

"For your information," Lisa spoke, her voice low but with greater intensity than she'd ever possessed in the past. "I never felt any sort of hatred towards that man like I feel towards you. What he did was terrible, yeah, and I do hate him more than words can describe. But, Jack, he didn't do it for a _living._ He didn't make that sort of evil his bread and butter, he didn't _target_ women to help him murder families!"

Jackson forced a laugh, but his eyes had faltered. Lisa noted that with a sort of triumph, pleased that she was finally breaking down some of the arrogant façade he had chosen to construct. "I don't think that's entirely true, Leese," he murmured, squeezing her cheeks more tightly. She clenched her fists behind her back. "I think that you secretly enjoy being told what to do, being controlled. It's part of what makes you, you. You're a hotel manager. People order you around on a daily basis."

"So you're saying that because…because I'm a hotel manager I enjoyed…I enjoyed being violated like that," Lisa said, her voice shaking as waves of nausea overcame her, accompanied by the horrifying memories of that afternoon. She battled to stay conscious, to stay lucid, to keep an objective mind and to keep from hitting Jackson Rippner.

"Subconsciously," Jackson whispered, his fingers stroking the side of her cheek as he relinquished his tight grip on her face. Lisa squirmed, wanting more than anything to be away from this pathetic imitation of a human being.

"Stop," she muttered to him, hopeless as his face loomed closer.

"Lisa…" she squeezed her eyes shut, giving in to the inevitable and hoping it would be quick. His lips touched hers.

"Are you folks interested in lunching in the dining cart?"

Jackson tore his mouth away from Lisa, rubbing his lips as he spun around to face the attendant. She blushed, as if realizing what she'd interrupted, and Lisa closed her eyes gratifyingly.

"Uh…I'm not…well…Lisa?" he turned to her awkwardly, one of the few times Lisa had sensed this sort of insecurity within him. She shrugged, still shaken at what had occurred. She turned her dizzy head to face Mel, and restrained a gasp when she realized that the girl was awake and staring wide-eyed at the attendant.

"I'm hungry," Mel whimpered, clutching her stomach. Lisa bit her lip and nodded at Jackson, hugging the girl to her chest and praying she hadn't witnessed what had gone on in the past few minutes, particularly Jackson's brutal discussion of Lisa's rape.

Jackson turned to Lisa, his eyes dancing about her face as he smiled. "That wasn't over."

"You mean your insensitively bringing up my past? No, Jackson, I'm pretty sure that was done," Lisa snapped bitterly, breaking his gaze and refusing to return to it. She preoccupied herself with making Mel contented in the uncomfortable train seating.

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way. I call it helpful analytic thinking to assist you in coping with your past and moving on," Jackson answered calmly.

"Because telling me I enjoyed being…being…that I enjoyed that, that will help me move on?" Lisa rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, doc."

"You know, Leese, everybody has had bad things happen to them," Jackson told her. "But you can't dwell on them and let your life fall to pieces."

"No, instead you can pick up a career in murdering people," she barked. "Very therapeutic. Why, Jackson, are you even trying to pretend like you understand me? And why are you analyzing what's supposedly wrong with me? Thought I was just a job."

"You are," Jackson answered, and then fell silent. Lisa turned to face him, unable to bear not reading his expressions for any longer. His face was stoic, his eyes tired. Was he tired of arguing? Not Jackson, surely that wasn't normal for him. He opened his mouth again. "But you've got to admit that there's something about us that isn't exactly normal for captor to captive."

Why the sudden interest in her and why he was trying to be romantic, Lisa had no idea, but as his hand moved to her face again she grabbed it and threw it angrily back down to his tray table. "I know what you're heading for, Jack, and let me just tell you that I feel exactly how a captive should. I hate you, I want you to die, and my only interest is in going home with the people I love unscathed. So stop doing this, stop trying to pretend like you have an interest in me so that I'll obey your every demand."

Jackson opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut, speaking arrogantly although his eyes declared otherwise. "Wow, Lisa, I've got to hand it to you. I really didn't think you'd see through that. You know, most other women don't. I'm attractive enough, and your self-esteem really isn't the greatest. But good job. You'd make a good assassin some day."

"Stop kidding yourself, Jackson."

He didn't say anymore, and Lisa stole only one more glance at him before giving up. As they stood to walk down the train for dinner and she slid past him into the aisle with Mel clinging to her neck, she looked into his eyes and saw that even though he claimed otherwise, Jackson Rippner _did_ lie.

He said that his interest in her was feigned, but his forlorn cerulean eyes told her that it was one hundred percent genuine.

And unsurprisingly, that was absolutely terrifying.

Xx

A/N: So even though Mel wasn't very active in this chapter, I just wanted to add another note here about something very serious that I and another RE writer have been talking about lately. There's been a lot of press about how three-year old Madeleine McCann was abducted from her family several months ago and I'm hoping that the plight of the Mel character will help draw some of you to this horrible situation and help stir up some of the much-needed pubic attention that is needed to help find this poor girl. Although Mel and none of the characters in this story are real, millions of children are abducted daily and few survive. There is much more that normal people like us can do to help save them, but we don't. So all I'm asking is that you guys please be more conscious that things like this do happen and try to do as much as you can to help save poor children like Madeline. Thanks!


	15. Chapter 15

_Some people fall in love…others just fall._

_-Unknown_

Jackson noticed how automatically his eyes drifted to Lisa's body as she stooped to help Melanie out of her seat. He couldn't help but observe how perfect nearly every part of her anatomy was, what a smooth, toned, and beautiful figure she possessed.

He shook his head and silently scolded himself for such childishness. What was he, fourteen? Lisa was nothing more than a job, a damn annoying one at that. What was he doing, assessing her image as lustfully as an ordinary teenage boy? Even if his job permitted, there could not possibly be a future with this woman. The instability of his work alone disallowed anything more than a one-night stand, and if he managed to get that far with Lisa he'd probably be too stunned to act upon it. Romance with Lisa Reisert was like romance with a spinster. She was a lost cause when it came to dating, a closed book. It was awfully hard to be intimate with a person who refused to let her guard down.

If Jackson had been truly desperate, he could have taken that huge leap and thrown all morality to the wind. There was no question that he could easily overpower her, threaten her into submission. And although it would be delightful to, for once, see the bitchy hotel manager at a total loss for words, at a wholly powerless state, Jackson knew he didn't have the guts to do that. No matter how heartless he became, the two rules that would most likely cling to him regardless would be not to sexually force a woman, and to not personally murder children. That was really the only way Jackson could distinguish himself as higher than other dirty criminals. He was a terrorist, an assassin, okay. He didn't mind those labels. But one thing he was not was a rapist. And it would remain that way, no matter how powerful his physical attraction to Lisa grew.

He blinked to see Lisa staring at him, revulsion and odium written all over her face. "Well?"

He yawned. "I'm sorry, what?"

Lisa rolled her eyes, shifting Melanie to her other hip. "I said, what are you waiting for? An open declaration from the heavens that you're now allowed to eat? Don't just stand there, Jack, totalitarian you are, I know you'll want to lead the way."

He smirked, wondering if his countenance had revealed any of his thoughts. Not that it really mattered. Perhaps if Lisa developed the notion that he was in love with her, she'd warm to him a bit and finally start doing what he told her. "After you, princess."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not even going to reply to that."

"You just did."

Lisa grunted abstractly and began barreling down the aisle towards the dining cart.

"So, Leese, what do you feel like eating tonight? Steak? Chicken? Haddock? Scrambled eggs?"

She ignored him, her shoulders tensing as she pushed open the door to the tiny, rattling restaurant. Jackson hadn't expected her to hold the door for him, so he wasn't surprised when it nearly hit him in the face. He caught it with one hand and shoved it forwards, the forcefulness of which shocking him when it slammed loudly against the wall. A waitress turned to stare at him, her face disgruntled as she balanced a full tray of soft drinks against her hip. He nodded apologetically at her and took Lisa by the shoulder, pulling her to him.

"We've got an image to maintain, Leese, and so although I know you're pissed with me, I'm going to have to ask you to bottle it up for old times' sake," Jackson whispered authoritatively in her ear. He felt her outwardly cringe and attempt to shrink away from him, that old fear of bodily contact kicking in once again. He smiled and just held her to him all the tighter, feeling quite awkward as they managed their way down the cart to a free table at the end.

Melanie slid from Lisa's arms into a ratty old booth, scooting all the way down next to the window, and Lisa routinely attempted to follow. Jackson grabbed her by the elbow and she turned to look at him.

"Are you sure that's such a good idea, Lisa?" he murmured, rubbing her elbow with his thumb. It was designed as an outward ploy, a mechanism that would no doubt prove to the public that these two people were, indeed, a couple, but proved to succeed in annoying Lisa as well. Not only that, but it also stirred a great deal of discomfort and ghastly memories within her to add to her frustration with Jackson, he knew from the look on her face as she pushed him away.

"Probably the best one I've had all night," she hissed back, firmly seating herself next to Melanie and wrapping an arm around the small girl's shoulders. Jackson merely raised an eyebrow at her and sat across the table from the two.

Within moments, Jackson was once again face-to-face with the waitress he'd displeased in the doorway, and she just rolled her eyes, obviously overridden with an extreme hatred for her job and coincidence in general. Jackson beamed at her, flicking the charm on full-blast as he recited a drink order and waited for Lisa's.

She surprised him by being much more soft-spoken and timid than usual, but not when she could so easily transition from being so bitchy and tart with him to so sweet and courteous with virtual strangers. Lisa calmly and nicely ordered a sweetened iced tea for herself, and an apple juice for Keefe's daughter.

Lisa was, strangely enough, completely silent until the drinks arrived. Sipping a murky glass of foamy iced tea settled back on a dingy white paper napkin, she finally looked up at Jackson and voiced the ever-present question, "Why?"

He swallowed a gulp of his scalding coffee, the hot liquid burning the scar tissue in his throat and croaked, "Why what?" as he stole an ice cube from Melanie's apple juice to drop into his warm beverage.

"Why did you choose me?" Lisa asked exhaustedly, finally voicing the inquiry that had been buried in every single question she'd asked him so far. Granted, she'd asked him half an hour earlier, but then he'd managed to duck around it, to find a decoy rather than answer her question directly. Now, there was no apparent way out of it. "What was so special about _me?_ There were so many other hotels you could have chosen from to attack Keefe, so many other ways that you could have done it. But why the Lux Atlantic? Why me? There were plenty of other people with more clout at that place that you could have picked."

Jackson nudged her hand. "Keep your voice down, Leese, if you value Tanya. We're in public, don't forget that."

She shook her head, limp curls flying into her face. "Just answer the question, Jack."

Jackson sighed, not quite willing to answer Lisa's bothersome inquiry because, for once, he was lacking an answer. For the time being, he chose to ignore her and gently folded his napkin on his lap as he perused the menu.

"Think the scampi is good?"

Lisa snatched the dirty, laminated menu away from him, tucking it away on the seat between her and the little girl. Her eyes were fiery as she spoke. "First of all, Jack, I wouldn't advise eating seafood on a rickety overnight Amtrak train. And second of all, could you please answer my fu—my question?"

Jackson smiled impishly, resisting the urge to chuckle and focusing himself on the task of searching for a response to sate Lisa's appetite. "You've not been wholly specific, Leese. You keep whining about why it had to be you. But tell me, are you talking about the first Keefe job, or this one?"

Her eyes filled with tears merely at the mention of Keefe, which shocked Jackson. She must be tired, he decided absently, resolving himself to somehow getting her to sleep when they returned to their seats. If he had to drug her, well, so be it. "Both."

"Well, the first time, it was honestly mostly coincidence. I needed a coastal resort to minimize the probability of police suspicion within my company, first of all, because if Keefe was merely found with a bullet to the head there's a greater likelihood of me getting caught." Jackson made sure to keep his eyes neutral and his voice low as he spoke, although above the rattling din of the train, he doubted anyone but Lisa could hear him anyway.

Lisa interrupted him regardless as she timidly placed her hands over Melanie's ears. "Jackson, sh," she whispered. "Don't say his name." Jackson rolled his eyes exasperatedly at her as he noticed that the girl wasn't even paying attention but rather ripping apart the tabletop sugar packets and happily licking the sweet crystals from her fingers.

"Anyway," he continued snappishly. "On _Keefe's_ tour, only three of his hotels enroute were coastal. One coast was closed to private anglers. The other had an extremely rocky beach, which we decided would be too problematic. That left us with the Lux."

"But there were so many others," Lisa cried quietly, mildly outraged. "At least six other night-staffers!" 

"None had that pull we needed, though, Leese, did they?" Jackson replied coyly, mockingly. "Only you, shy, introverted, generally _fucked-up_ Lisa Reisert had the managerial authority required to successfully complete this job." Jackson grinned and leaned back, sipping his cooled coffee as the waitress returned to take their dinner orders. Lisa was visibly shaking, and her voice was unsteady as she recited her order despite her obvious efforts to control it.

When the waitress finally left, Jackson stared accusingly at her and continued, "Better you than anyone else, though, right? After all, your life was ruined as it was. Apart from dear old dad, you have nobody. Maybe it's lucky I found you, to spice things up a bit. And anyway, Leese, I know how much you enjoy being the martyr."

Melanie tugged on Lisa's sleeve, moaning about something, but for once, Lisa didn't notice her. The woman was too busy staring at Jackson, her face slowly turning a bright rouge as she seethed. "Don't _say_ that," she hissed. "How dare you even _try_ to figure out what's going on in my head! Just because _you_ enjoy being the center of attention, Jack, doesn't mean I do. Yeah, I'm glad I was able to save Mel's dad and that nobody else at the hotel had to get involved. But that doesn't mean that every_day_ I don't wish things could have been different."

Jackson leaned forward, his face inches from hers as he hissed, "Tell me you don't enjoy the attention, Lisa. Finally getting noticed by people. The news coverage, the special notice from Keefe. Even by me. I'm a world-renowned man, Leese. And what are you? A hotel manager, not even for a fantastic place. A mediocre little resort on the beaches of Miami. That's all you were, all you ever would be had I not come along."

Lisa snorted, her eyes alight with a strange spark that Jackson had only seen once, and that was back on the airplane, just as she was drawing her hand away from his neck, pen dangling from his skin. It was nearly frightening to see such intensity in her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was strangely deep and quiet. Melanie continued to whine as she spoke. "Don't give yourself that credit, Jackson."

Jackson opened his mouth to haughtily reply, unnerved by the fact that she'd uttered only several syllables rather than the high-pitched, self-confident retort he'd expected her to make, when her fist collided with his face. As she did so, he felt his hot cup of coffee come tumbling down onto his lap, the uncomfortably warm liquid seeping through his pants and into his skin. He yelped, clutching his face and shaking his legs to free himself of the burning fluid. Lisa bolted, running from the table. As blood seeped from his nose, he watched as Melanie trembled in her seat.

"What the _fuck,"_ he hissed at her. "Was _this _for?" He shook his stained pantlegs and her lip trembled.

"It was an accident," she whimpered quietly, pointing to the tumbled glass and next to it, a bowl of sugar. "Wanted stuff."

Jackson rolled his eyes and let his eyes scan the cart as he held a hand over his nose. Miraculously, the only person in the cart who'd noticed Lisa's little shenanigan was the waitress. She eyed him with contempt as he stormed towards her.

"Could you please watch my daughter for a moment?" he asked, trying to restrain the fury in his voice. _Damn you, Lisa. I swear to God, if you tell anybody about the Keefe job his brat won't live to see her fourth birthday._

The waitress raised an eyebrow with pursed lips but nodded and Jackson thundered away, pushing his way out of the dining cart and heading for the only place he knew Lisa could hide.

The bathroom.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: I just wanted to say thanks for all the amazing reviews I received on the last chapter, and this story so far in general! Thanks so much, you guys, they keep me going! Anyway, next chapter, and keep up the good work. : - )

xx

When you make a mistake, don't look back at it long. Take the reason of the thing into your mind and then look forward. Mistakes are lessons of wisdom. The past cannot be changed. The future is yet in your power.  
--Hugh White

Lisa covered her face with both hands and leaned her head against the unrelentingly rough wall, mortified. "Oh, God," she moaned to herself. _What have I done? _Jackson would likely kill her cousin, or take his fury out on Mel, both courses of action which were definitely not Lisa's idea of helpful.

What was she thinking, punching Jackson in the face? Or rather, what _hadn't _she been thinking. She should have known that he would say something to enrage her when he answered her question; she should have been prepared enough so that reacting violently to his blatant cruelty had not been an option.

But the fact was that she _had_ reacted aggressively, and it was obviously too late to be worrying about it now. No, now all that could be done was to figure out what to do next.

Jackson would be pissed. Of course. And unless Lisa could find someway of stopping the train, stealing Mel from under his nose and running home to protect Tanya, she was out of luck. Lisa rubbed her weary eyes, mascara dying the tips of her fingers black. Lisa carelessly dried them on her skirt as a sudden idea hit her like a load of bricks.

She couldn't stop the train. But if she could get to an attendant quickly enough and tell them what was going on, maybe they could help her. By now, Jackson would have returned to their seats to look for her, so Mel was either with him or alone. Either way, Lisa had a plan of how to work it. First, she would find an attendant and convince him or her of Jackson's plot and the danger he posed, and then she would return the way she had come and down the narrow hallway back to the dining cart to see if Mel was still there. If not, she'd be forced to return to the seats and confront Jackson with the attendant. Mel's safety was of utmost importance, and to guarantee that Lisa would need some help with an external source.

She took a deep breath and stepped back out into the corridor, watching her feet so as not to get her shoe stuck in the shifting floor. She peered down the corridor towards the dining cart and, seeing an attendant, began to quickly head in that direction.

"Hey!" she called out as the door to the dining cart opened. The man briefly turned his head to look at her, then rolled his eyes as he continued down to another door. "Wait!" Lisa moved to follow him, then realized the door he had taken was locked. She swore under her breath and turned, determined to find another—hopefully more helpful—attendant elsewhere. She froze as a person stepped out of the dining cart.

Shutting the door behind him, his countenance at first blank and then livid, Jackson stepped towards Lisa. She squeaked nervously and glanced down the corridor, her only escape being through the door at the other end. Jackson reached for her, growling. She yelped and ducked away from his hand, running towards the door.

Six feet. Five feet. Three feet. Two. Her hands were on the handle and she tugged, throwing it open and looking behind her. Jackson's outstretched hand was inches away as she stepped over the threshold, colliding instantly with something tall and thin.

_Shit!_ A broom fell from where it had been leaning against the closed door and cracked her on the head. She turned, panicking. _It was only a fucking closet?_

Lisa once again managed to dart away from Jackson in the confined space and headed back towards the dining cart. As she sprinted in terror, however, her heel lodged itself in the rotating floorboards and she fell, scraping her knee on the rough floor. Desperately, Lisa pulled at her leg, attempting to free herself from the rattling ground, feeling the thin fabric of her shoe groaning with the effort. Jackson viciously grabbed her by the arm, yanking her upwards. Lisa saw pieces of the fabric of her shoe still attached to the floor as Jackson shoved her brutally back into the bathroom.

She protested against him as he pushed her against the wall and locked the door behind him. With one hand, he pinned both of her arms over her head and with the other he slammed her head against the wall, his fingernails digging into her cheeks as he firmly held her in place. Now, restrained, Lisa couldn't do anything more than wiggle.

She felt her pulse rate quicken to a dangerous rate and she whimpered in Jackson's grasp. "Let…go…please….let….go…" she begged, tears forming in her eyes. She looked up at his face, and saw blood beginning to dry beneath his nose, fresh red liquid continuing to seep from his nostrils.

"That was pretty fucking stupid, Lisa," Jackson hissed. Lisa felt dizzy. "And guess what? You just selfishly ate up your last chance."

"W-what do you mean?"

Jackson gripped her face even more tightly, and Lisa worried he would soon draw blood. "From the very beginning, I never had to allow you to watch over Melanie. I would just as soon have her locked up with one of my guys, because honestly, Leese, kids piss me off. But out of consideration for _you,_ and for the _brat,_ I opted to keep the two of you together."

Lisa was surprised when a wave of guilt washed over her. _He opted to KIDNAP you, Lisa, to kidnap you and an innocent three-year-old. Keeping you together was the least he could do, so don't feel like you owe him anything or that you infringed upon his graciousness by hitting him._ She realized where he was headed with this. "Jackson, please, don't hurt her."

"I'm not going to hurt her," he whispered angrily. "Since you obviously can't keep your hands to yourself or even act a tiny bit more mature than a third-grader, I realize I'm going to have to _separate the two of you_."

Lisa panicked. She couldn't let Mel be taken away from her! That was all she had right now, the only thing left living for! Jackson's cronies, they would hurt her, they didn't know Melanie like Lisa did. She couldn't let this happen! "Jackson, please, please don't take Mel away from me," Lisa begged, feeling pathetic but at the same time willing to do whatever it took to keep the girl by her side. "She had nothing to do with this, I swear. I shouldn't have hit you, and I'm sorry, but please don't take Mel!"

Jackson smiled condescendingly at her. "Are you groveling, Leese? Tsk, tsk, it's hard to believe what the world is coming to."

Tears streaming down her face, leaving dirty streaks of shed makeup behind, Lisa struggled against Jackson, crying out. "Please, Jackson, don't! I'll do anything, just don't take her away from me!"

He smirked. "Oh, really, anything? I could be quite experimental with that, you know."

Prickles of nausea threatened her system, but Lisa managed to stay upright, coherent, and nonviolent. When she finally spoke, she realized that she was running out of words. "Please, Jackson," she whispered. "Please…just…just don't."

Lisa closed her eyes as Jackson's icy stare explored her entire body, contemplating, but she could feel the cool waves radiating from his gaze. She shivered, trembling in his grasp until he spoke.

"Lucky for you, Lisa," he said, his voice dejected yet still possessing his usual calm suaveness. "I consider myself far above several of the members of my organization, many of whom would eagerly take you up on your offer without a second thought. But what you're suggesting to me is equivalent to prostitution or, on the other hand, rape, both of which just do not interest me. So, intriguing as it is, I'm going to have to say no. Sorry to disappoint you."

Lisa's spirits rose. "So you'll let Mel stay?"

He snorted, and her hopes were crushed. "Christ, no. I didn't say that. I promised that I wouldn't take advantage of you, not that I would allow you and the brat to have your Disney moment and stay together. She's leaving."

Jackson released his grip on her face and arms, and Lisa slid to the floor, covering her face with her hands. "No!" she sobbed. "Jackson, no! How can you do this, how

can you--"

"Lisa, goddammit, stop being so melodramatic. They won't hurt her, they assured me of that when I called to confirm a minute ago. She just won't have an over-possessive hotel manager fawning over her every whim. Now get up and wash your face. You look like shit, another reason why I'm honestly not interested in your offer."

She couldn't move, she couldn't even budge her hands away for a moment, grieving over the prospect of losing nearly everything in one fell swoop. "Get _up._" Jackson took a hold of her arm and yanked her to her feet, earning Lisa a sharp pain in shoulder as he jerked her upwards.

He threw a damp paper towel at her and she dabbed at her face, uncaring of what anybody thought anymore. There was no point in struggling anymore. Everything was over, Jackson had won. He'd made sure to remove his only weakness, the only thing that Lisa could use to her advantage.

Lisa was a fighter, but by no means was she unconditionally strong. It was done, and there was no point in fighting any longer.


	17. Chapter 17

_He who takes but never gives, may last for years but never lives._

_-Unknown_

Presently, it was extremely difficult for Jackson to determine which of the brooding ladies in his backseat was the toddler. He chanced another glance back at them, but, as before, both were sitting stock-still, clinging to each other and staring out the window. Lisa's head rested atop the mass of Melanie's once-again tangled hair, a steady flow of tears streaming from her hazel eyes and wetting the girl's head.

_For Christ's sake, you'd think one of them was going off to war,_ he mocked them derisively to himself, directing his focus upon the road ahead once more.

Ever since the stunt Lisa had pulled on the train to Michigan, the fiery redhead hadn't spoken a word except out of Jackson's insistence and necessity. 'No, Jackson, I'm not hungry.' 'Mel needs to use the restroom, Jackson.' 'Mel's bored, Jackson.' Mel, Mel, Mel. Her obsession with the little girl irritated and at the same time unnerved him. Jackson fretted that when the two were separated, he'd be faced with a bit of a problem. Either Lisa would pitch a total bitch-fit and send his sanity into crisis lockdown mode, or she'd withdraw and be totally useless to the operation. Nevertheless, if he broke his promise of punishment now, Lisa would fail to take him seriously later on when her cooperation became even more crucial. There was no choice. The kid had to go.

He did not intend to keep the two apart for very long, although this tidbit of information was not one that Jackson planned to leak to Lisa. Although the past day or so spent aboard the swiftly moving Amtrak had been tedious and uncomfortable, at least it had been relatively quiet. That was a small yet significant detail he attributed in part to Lisa's despair and dejectedness, but, moreover, to her fear. She knew, now, that Jackson wasn't just a talker, he enacted his threats and made them reality. Lisa wouldn't try anything, not with her cousin's life affirmatively at stake. But if Jackson were to inform Lisa that Melanie would stay with his associates only a few days, she would cheer up and go back to her usual pissing and moaning about how unfair her life was. He could do without that for a while; some peace and quiet would be appreciated.

He soundlessly eased the car to a stop at the end of the winding, unpaved driveway and turned it off, swiveling in his seat to stare at his captives.

"Ladies?"

Lisa looked up, her face cold, her features exaggerated by the clownish streaks of mascara trailing to her chin. "Please, Jackson," she pleaded expressly, and although she was not specific, he understood.

Shaking his head, he unbuckled and instructed her to do the same. "I'm sorry, Leese, but no. It's not my problem. You chose to do this the moment you hit me."

Lisa bit her lip and mechanically pulled seatbelts away from her and the little girl. "You're heartless," she whispered, almost as if to herself, but Jackson heard her and laughed, sounding more vicious and coldhearted than he'd intended.

"You wound me, Lisa, really."

A tap on his window alerted him to the presence of Garr, his German associate, waiting impatiently outside. Jackson nodded to him and stepped out of the car, absently pulling open the back door of the small car and tossing the keys to his employee.

"Erase all signs, understood?" Garr just rolled his eyes, bored, and replaced Jackson in the driver's seat. He turned to glance at Lisa, but his gaze lingered covetously on her chest. Thankfully, the woman's full attention was placed upon the three-year-old at the moment, but the thought of Garr so callously and openly violating Lisa's privacy filled Jackson with an irrational anger so strong he wanted to attack the man. Instead, Jackson ushered Lisa out, and sighed theatrically when he noticed Melanie still clinging to her neck. He turned to Garr.

"Where's Tompkins?"

Garr lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out the window and gesturing grandly at the majestic brick building before them that seemed to tower over the landscape. "In the house."

Jackson stiffened, offended. "Doing what?"

Garr shrugged. "I don't fucking know. Taking a piss, or something…"

"In _my_ house?"

Garr finally picked up on the angry waves Jackson was radiating and abruptly shifted into an apologetic tremble of a man. The cigarette fell limp between his fingers, unnoticed, as he gestured nervously. "He—he was under the impression that it was the company safehouse, Jacks--"

Jackson hit Garr smartly atop the head. The man grimaced as Jackson withdrew his hand, dragging Lisa to him. She whimpered as his nails dug into the fabric of her shirt and he shook her to emphasize his point, as if she were a rag doll. Then again, she kind of was. "Don't you _ever_ fall under the impression that you or anybody you confront has the right to touch my possessions," he barked. "That includes my house, my bathroom, and, for the time being, Lisa."

He happened to glance down at her as he coldly threw her body away from him, and as she stumbled her eyes scanned his. Behind the teary hazel hue, confusion, hurt, and fright were vividly etched. Jackson quickly tore his gaze away as a hefty man lumbered from the house, grinning self-satisfactorily.

Tompkins crudely jerked his thumb at Lisa as he zipped up his fly. Slightly encumbered by a Welsh accent, he inquired, "This the chick?"

Jackson seethed. "Yes, Tompkins, and on your way back to HQ I believe Garr has something of importance to discuss with you. Now, then, take the girl and get going. I have better things to do than babysit you all day."

Tompkins stumbled to action, obviously humbled by Jackson's harsh reprisal, and pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket. "This necessary?" he questioned his superior. Jackson contemplated this and shook his head.

"No. Just hurry up."

Lisa's nails dug into the soft, milky skin of Melanie's wrists as Tompkins lurched forward to claim the girl. "No," she whispered over and over, close to hysterics. It became quite comical, actually, that whenever Tompkins would reach for Melanie, Lisa would turn her body and shelter the child whilst moving forwards, temporarily out of reach.

Finally, however, Jackson grew ill of her game and darted behind her, gripping the back of her neck and pulling her harshly to him while Tompkins snatched Keefe's daughter from her arms. Lisa, shocked, stretched out her arms and attempted to wrench herself from Jackson's tight grip on her throat.

"Mel!" she screamed, jerking sporadically, as if epileptic. "No, no, Jackson, please, don't let them take her! Jackson, please! Mel!"

"I'm sorry, Lisa," he whispered in her ear, not really sorry at all for the circumstances but for causing her such dramatic despair. "Say goodbye."

She didn't say goodbye, however, but Jackson allowed her little time to lament before pressing on the sensitive little button that pushed her into a temporary unconsciousness. Without another word, she fell limply into his arms, and he held her, like the puppet she was, while Melanie trembled in the arms of Tompkins.

"L-Lisa," she whined, finally grasping the usage of Lisa's proper name. _She would be proud,_ Jackson decided a bit cruelly, _if she could see that._ She babbled incoherently for several moments, terrified of the stranger tightly suspending her in the air, before a familiar name, too familiar, passed over her tiny lips.

"J-Jackson," she squealed, practically clambering over the beefy arms of her captor. Her tiny brown eyes bored into his and her desperate stare was so intense that he had to force himself to look away. _You don't care. She's nothing to you._ "Jack!"

It surprised him that she knew his name, surprised him that she was yelling for him now, yelling for him to save her, but he had no choice but to remain uncaring. If he submitted now, this job, his work, the whole company would go up in flames. No. He did not care.

He nodded a goodbye to his associates as Tompkins brusquely pushed the screaming Melanie into the backseat of the car, and hefted Lisa over his shoulder as he turned back towards the house. The quiet inside the massive building was deafening, his ears still filled with the toddlers wails for his help. He gently draped Lisa's motionless body over his couch, shaking Melanie's voice from his head.

He'd never cared before. He must not care now.

Author's Note: Hah, cheesy ending…but don't worry. Jackson doesn't really care that much, he's still the stone-cold assassin we all know and love! Lisa's nagging has just finally started to take a hold on him, that's all, and he _is_ human…so anyway…this story has not veered to a new and sudden plot path of luvvy-duvvy Jackson, parental Jackson, incredibly sweet Jackson. Nope. He just is having one of those terribly pathetic moments of weakness.

Anyways, sorry for the long update wait, and I'll try to update again soon! Cheers, and please review!


	18. Chapter 18

_The guilty one is not the one who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness._

_-Victor Hugo_

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Lisa awoke to the sound of wind slapping against rock, slightly muffled. She was in a bed, in a room, she deciphered, near…what, a mountain? A cliff? There were no cliffs in Miami. Wherever she was, it was chilly, but she was warm, tucked beneath satiny sheets and a thick, fluffy blanket. She was painless, spare a sharp, dart-like pain in her head, which was intensified into a white-hot climax as she opened her eyes. Groaning, she moved to pull the sheets from where they clung to her body but hesitated as a wave of dizziness overcame her. For a moment, Lisa attempted to gain her bearings and figure out why, all of a sudden, Miami was so freezing.

She sat up, her fingers digging into the rich walnut headboard to support herself, and frowned as she surveyed the expensive-looking bedroom that surely did not belong to her. In fact, it looked so ritzy it could only be…

Jackson's. Jackson Rippner. She was not in Miami. She was in Michigan.

As her head surged with pain, the events of the past several days rushed back to her, engulfing her with a second wave of grief as she recalled the little girl, Melanie, and how she had been so cruelly snatched away from her. Lisa waited for familiar hot, salty tears to course down her face, but, alas, none came. There was no more crying left to be done.

For the time being, her only thoughts were of Jackson. She must hurt him. Overpower him. Kill him. He deserved nothing less than vicious, malicious pain ladled out by Lisa's own hand. He deserved hell and she was more than willing to give it to him.

Lisa took several deep breaths, gathering the strength she knew she would need. The time was nigh to bring down Jackson Rippner, to show him that she wasn't just a silly woman, an insignificant, weak hotel manager. The only question was how exactly to do it, and it was immediately answered as her gaze fell upon her high heels resting beside the bed, toe to toe in a neat row. She rolled her eyes, marveling at the realization that Jackson had obviously removed them for her before placing her into this pristinely clean bed. She remained in the same clothes she'd worn for the past several days, however, and smiled at the thought of the stained fabric possibly soiling Jackson's precious sheets. Despite that small pleasure she derived from the idea, Lisa still hoped that this was not his bed. She didn't want to think about what had occurred here, about what Jackson might have intended to occur here. She still didn't trust him, no matter what he said or how honestly he said it.

Then she shuddered, remembering that he had sedated her and must have carried her up here himself. Her hands trembled with revulsion at the idea of him touching her, of his fingers tracing her skin—

It was time to get away from there.

Lisa bolted out of bed, nearly fainting as her head throbbed but steadying herself as it passed. She reached for one of the shoes, scratching the heel with her fingernail as she wondered if it would be sharp enough to pierce Jackson's skin again. She was mad enough, she figured, if there was enough force behind the driving hand, she'd be able to puncture his skin. From there, she decided that she would be able to overcome him in his shocked state and she could take him down, tackle him, or whatever it took. When he was unconscious, then, and only then, could she make a run for it.

Lisa eased open the door, sticking her head into the hallway and scanning down the long, narrow corridor. Seeing nobody in the dark passageway, she slowly pushed the door open further and stepped out, wincing as the floorboards creaked beneath her weight. She heard a clinking noise from the floor beneath, and stored the sound and general direction from which it had been coming in her mental database for later use. She quietly began to creep towards the stairs, the high heel poised high above her head, ready to strike at any moment.

She nearly smiled at the thought of the sudden switch in her relationship with Jackson. For once, Lisa realized, _she_ was stalking _him._ She wanted to kill _him._ No longer was she the prey, victim to his stalking and his manipulation and bloodlust, but she was the predator, searching, waiting, prepared to kill if necessary. As she stepped silently down the stairs, her feet delicate in the case of a squeaky step, the memory of the chase in her father's house floated back to her. How similar it was now, weapon glued to her hand, prowling the house and hoping that Jackson didn't appear. Or maybe, hoping that he did. Her eyes darted around, edgy as a cat's, not wanting to be caught off guard. He had the advantage now; she had never been in this house in her life. However, hopefully, he wasn't expecting her to be awake or to be so vengeful so soon after she'd been sedated. Perhaps he himself was asleep, although that was unlikely, after the noise Lisa had heard.

She creeped towards the source of the noise, the kitchen, hoping that she would have the element of surprise on her side and be able to easily sneak up on and attack Jackson without him noticing her first. There was a scuffling noise as Lisa inched towards the doorway at the end of the hallway, where light poured through into the darkened corridor. Swallowing hard, she approached the doorway, tensing herself for what she might see.

The room was completely devoid of human presence. Disappointed, or maybe relieved, Lisa automatically decided to keep the high heel prepared for an attack. This proved to be wise, as she soon noticed another doorway leading out of the kitchen into an adjoining room. _Damn. He must have gone through there. _She prayed Jackson hadn't heard her coming, but that was unlikely, for if he had, he most likely would not have retreated into another room. Lisa stepped towards it, one hand raising the high heel, the other grazing the countertop for support as she walked.

Peering into the room, she saw only a scrubbed wooden dining table, a lumpy plastic bag tossed hurriedly atop its surface. Frowning, Lisa curiously began to approach it in hopes of discovering its contents, but spun around when she heard a noise behind her.

She instantly swung her hand at Jackson's head, the high heel narrowly missing by several inches. She heard the whoosh of air as it escaped colliding with his ear, and rapidly raised it again to deliver a blow to his head. Before she could bring it smashing down, however, his hand caught her wrist and squeezed tightly, popping her closed hand open and sending the shoe clattering to the tiled floor. Jackson pushed her, struggling, against the edge of the dark blue countertop, a wood block digging sharply into her back and tearing the fabric of her shirt.

"Let me go!"

Jackson ignored her feeble cry, wrapping his feet around hers to prohibit her escape. She winced as she felt his familiar hot breath on her face and his fingernails dug into her wrists as he pressed her into the counter. "Nice nap?"

"What the _fuck_ do you think?" Lisa hissed, her mood sinking even further as she realized that, now, without Mel, she could swear. As much as directing curse words at Jackson delighted her, she would rather the three-year-old was there to censor her.

"I'm thinking I should have given you a stronger dose," Jackson remarked, fighting her as she attempted to break free again. "Since you shouldn't have woken up for at least twelve more hours."

"Is that what I am, Jack?" Lisa sneered. "A burden? Maybe you should have thought of that before you _kidnapped_ me!"

"A puppy would take less work, you're right," Jackson cackled. Lisa glared at him and worked her hand free while he was distracted to manage to reach up and slap him smartly across the face. His smile instantly disappeared as a large red mark appeared on his skin, and he slapped her back, his fingers tightening around her wrists.

"What was the shoe for, Lisa?" he scorned. "Going to try and stab me again?"

"Yes, and I would have," she barked, her face stinging. She battled his hands once again. "Get _off!_"

Yet again, he paid no heed to her cries. "You were so bent out of shape about Melanie, Lisa, I'd have thought you'd be more considerate of your cousin's life."

She froze, every part of her body suddenly numb, as if an icy cold had suddenly swept through the room and rendered her motionless. "T-Tanya?"

"Yes, Tanya," Jackson repeated slowly as if speaking to a child, a smile curving his lips. Lisa shuddered. _Tanya._ She hadn't even thought of Tanya lately, she realized guiltily, because all of her efforts had been focused on Melanie. Melanie was the number one priority, and she realized with a pang of distress that she hadn't even considered how her efforts at escape would affect her cousin.

"Tanya…don't hurt her, Jackson," Lisa begged fervidly, her chest heaving in dry retches. "Please, Jackson, don't hurt my cousin. I'm sorry, I…"

Jackson roughly pulled Lisa away from the countertop and shoved her away from him. Weakened from her headache and their previous encounter, she collapsed to the floor, her knees scraping on the tile. She watched detachedly as the pale, dry skin began to bleed, but found herself not caring at all. She looked up, and Jackson was staring down at her, his face twisted as if he was prepared to spit.

"You disgust me," he sneered, and Lisa thought she detected a bit of disappointment in his voice. "This isn't _you,_ this isn't Lisa Reisert. Begging and wallowing and crying, you've turned into a sniveling, pathetic excuse for a woman. You never used to be this scared. What happened? Is it because I took Melanie away from you? Or are you still feeling sorry for yourself? Over what? The red-eye flight? The _rape?_ Leese, for Christ's sake, get the fuck over it."

Her temper raged, and before she could even think, Lisa leapt to her feet and began pounding Jackson's head with her fists. She didn't stop, not when she heard his muffled grunts, not when he began swinging haphazardly for her hands, not even when he had her pushed back against the counter. Something wet covered her hands, spilling onto her arms and then her blouse, maybe even her face, and something told her it was blood. Whose blood, she didn't know, but that didn't stop her, nor did it slow her in the slightest. Lisa would have continued fighting, she would have kept hitting Jackson until one of them buckled but when she felt the cool, thin, razor-sharp blade against her collarbone, everything stopped. The room, spared the loud grunts and cries of mere moments before, slipped into a silence so intense that Lisa felt her eyes widening. She tried to catch her breath and looked into Jackson's face.

The blade was digging into her chest, drawing blood as he pressed it to the milky white skin. She tried not to breath, tried not to allow her chest to rise and fall so that she wouldn't be drawing herself into the knife. Peering into Jackson's icy blue eyes, she saw the caution and self-doubt hidden behind the angry flames. His breathing was just as labored and ragged, if not more, than hers, and his countenance was miserable, almost mournful. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he shook his head to himself and yanked the pocketknife away, snapping it shut and stashing it back inside his jacket. Lisa didn't move, looking up at him, fearful, unable but trying to anticipate his next move. She finally noticed that the blood on her hands was _his_ blood, stolen from his badly bleeding nose and mouth. Lisa tried to ignore the guilt that slowly crept into her senses. _It was self-defense,_ she realize. _The knife was self-defense. I was a threat._

Jackson gently let go of her and she slid to the floor, too exhausted and shell-shocked to stand. She knew inwardly that the battle between them was over, and there was some sort of spoken understanding that the storm had passed. Jackson held out a hand to help her up, but Lisa pushed it away, forcing herself to her feet by digging her fingers into the countertop. She stood on shaky knees while Jackson stared at his feet, blood silently dripping from his face to the floor. Lisa waited several moments for him to speak, sensing that he would, but after a rather large, awkward silence had passed she began to leave the room.

She hesitated as she heard his voice in the doorway, her hand tightly gripping the doorframe. She refused to turn around, but listened as he said, in what seemed like a sincere apology, "I'm sorry, Lisa. I didn't…I never wanted to get that out of control."

_You did,_ she wanted to hiss, but remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. Was he apologizing for this whole ordeal, these past few days? Or for sending Melanie away?

Lisa didn't want to think that he was apologizing to her for holding her at knifepoint. Because the truth was, it had scared the hell out of her and she knew he knew that. For him to say he was sorry for doing that would be a declaration of her cowardice, of the fact that she _hadn't_ gotten over the rape, and the whole point of attacking him would be wasted. She clutched the doorway even more tightly, refusing to request him to specify his apology.

"I promised myself I wouldn't do that."

Lisa turned, biting her lip because she knew that Jackson recognized her worst fear and regretted making her remember. She shook her head remorsefully, unapologetically as she stared into his icy blue eyes and his bloodied face. _I did that to him. He deserved it._

He stared quizzically at her, pressing her to speak, and she did, though only briefly because she saw that he knew he was responsible for her silence. "But you did, Jackson. You _did._" Then she turned, leaving him to clean up the mess, as she slowly crept back upstairs, back to sulk, back to wonder why, all of a sudden, Jackson cared.

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Author's Note: Thanks for all the unbelievable feedback on the last few chapters! The reviews make all the late nights working on this worthwhile! Thanks again!


	19. Chapter 19

_In all the work we do, our most valuable asset can be the attitude of self-examination. It is forgivable to make mistakes, but to stand fast behind a wall of self-righteousness and make the same mistake twice is not forgivable.  
---Dale Turner_

Jackson rarely allowed himself to stay at home for more than a night's time, and the safe house in the woods was certainly not his haven of choice. To be honest, he preferred the bustling, crowded Prague location. He'd always thought the experience of a long vacation would be too much a luxury, but now, he realized that he was wrong.

The experience was excruciatingly painful.

Jackson wasn't sure whether it was because Lisa was here with him, or maybe because he was terribly worried about his associates pulling off other aspects of the Keefe job without his supervision, but the three days that had spent so far in the safe house were killing him.

After the incident in the kitchen, Lisa seemed to have taken up a vow of silence. She'd spoken only in one-word answers, grunts of acceptance or refusal. The best word to describe her, Jackson decided, would have to be sullen. Ordinarily, he'd have found her hush a blessing, but now he was so bored that he was just itching for a fight.

There was nothing to do. There was a television, of course, but the channels were small in numbers and poor in quality. After all, Jackson didn't want to spend money to literally pay his employees to slack off, now did he?

He wouldn't have minded spending some time outdoors, but that posed several problems. If, on the off chance of the police suspecting him of the kidnappings, he didn't want to be spotted. Despite the fact that the safe house was tucked back in the woods, miles from civilization, there was a possibility that a lost hiker could see him and report him.

And besides, he wouldn't know what to do with Lisa. She couldn't come outside with him and leaving her on her own in the house would be more than idiotic, it would be suicidal. He'd seen with his own eyes what havoc she could wreak with something as simple as a pen, and, more recently, a frying pan.

The first and most fatal mistake of his had been assuming, upon entering the house with an unconscious Lisa, that by removing all blades from the kitchen he was safe from her wrath. The next had been falling asleep on the couch without first locking her door.

It was their first night there, Jackson calculated, and he had made the assumption that Lisa was in too deep a drug-induced sleep to wake up and do anything foolish. So, naturally, he'd let his guard down while watching television in the living room and drifted off to sleep.

Big mistake.

He'd woken up when he'd heard Lisa's heavy, labored breathing near his ear and jerked to attention. Apparently, he'd been too late, because the moment his eyes opened, a searing pain attacked his head as a stainless steel frying pan flew at his skull. He'd lurched to his feet, dizzy from the bombardment as he rose, and lunged at her as she fumbled with the locks on the door.

Angry, he tackled her to the floor and punched her hard in the face before she could react, punishment for her resistance. Her screams were cut off by his weight on her chest, which he relished. Jackson had managed to subdue her that night, first by joining his hands with her throat to catch her energy, and then with another shot from his trusty little syringe that he kept in his pocket day and night. It had proven to be useful, he realized now.

Shuddering and lightly fingering the tender welt on his head, Jackson willed himself not to fall asleep on the couch where he currently sat. Nope. That would be idiotic. He glanced wistfully outside, shaking away all thoughts of spending time outdoors. Besides, there wasn't much to do outside, anyway. There was no beach; just a cliff that jutted dangerously over the lake, and the weather had been stormy and overcast the past few days, anyway. So Jackson had sat inside, calling employees every hour on the hour, glowering over why he had demoted himself to babysitting a hotel manager and trying his very best to antagonize Lisa.

Jackson slouched on the couch that evening as hotdogs boiled on the stove, his gaze lazily fixed to the screen of the television. He recognized that he'd left Lisa's door wide open and unbolted, but that was fine, as his inexplicable hunger was keeping him awake, anyway.

A monotonous game show ended and transferred over to the local news. Jackson groaned as the Botox-ed newscasters announced the stories of the night, sighing in exasperation as they excitedly proclaimed the date of the coming fishing derby. Then, without warning, a familiar face flickered across the screen and Jackson sat up a little straighter. _It can't be…_

"…thank all law enforcement involved in the safe return of my baby girl," Charles Keefe told the camera, his eyes misty. Jackson cursed. Keefe pulled a clearly bedraggled toddler to his chest, and there were murmurs of appreciation from the audience. _FUCK!_

How could this be? Melanie was supposed to be in the custody of his employees, being transferred across the country to California. Why was she suddenly back with her father? Jackson pinched himself, desperately hoping that this was a dream. Another Keefe job, failed. This could not be happening, it simply could not.

Lisa chose the least opportune moment to enter the room, grumbling her longest sentence in the past few days, "I'm hungry."

Hurriedly fumbling for the remote control to change the channel before she could see, "Do you like hotdogs?" He could not let her see Melanie's face on the screen, for if she did, she would have absolutely no inclination to adhere to his will again. If there was no assignment, she would know that Jackson was keeping her around for purposes other than the Keefe job. That simply could not happen.

"No." Then, as he breathed a sigh of relief, Lisa frowned, ordering him, "Turn it back."

"I…. no," Jackson sputtered.

Lisa stepped closer. "Mel…" she whispered. "Jackson, did you…is Mel…"

Ignoring her question but desperate for answers, Jackson reached for his phone and quickly dialed his associate, Garr. It rang several more times than ordinary before a harried Garr picked up, barking, "What?"

"Hello, Garr," Jackson greeted, his voice laced with a calm, icy venom. He heard Garr sharply inhale, and at that moment he knew the operation was ruined. His clients were not going to be happy. "Would you like to explain yourself before you die?"

"Jackson—Mr. Rippner—I—it wasn't my fault, I sw--"

"You swear?" Jackson sneered, irritably waving Lisa away as she hovered for information. "How exactly, then, Garr, did you manage to let a _three-year-old_ escape from your grasp?"

Garr paused. "S—she…we were out of gas, sir, and so we stopped--"

"Enroute to California?"

"Yes."

"Where was this?"

"Nebraska."

"When?"

"L-last night, Mr. Rippner," Garr answered shakily, nearing hysterics. "I swear, we only left the car for a moment--"

"Why is it necessary for two men to enter a gas station to pay for gas?" Jackson mused sarcastically. "Hm? Answer me, Garr."

The man was silent for a moment. "I—I paid for the gas, sir."

"And Tompkins?"

Garr was quiet.

"I'm waiting."

Garr mumbled incoherently; Jackson ordered him to speak up.

"He had to…"

"Yes?"

"He had to use the restroom."

Jackson seethed. "_Again?"_

"Well, it was a few states awa--"

"You're telling me," Jackson snarled. "That we lost a two-million dollar job…because of Tompkins's _bowels?"_ He made a mental note to have the man's removed upon his arrival in London. This was the _second_ time that Tompkins had dared cross him, there would not be a third.

"Well…yes."

"And what exactly do you plan to do about it?"

"W-well, it was the police that found the Keefe girl in the car, see, and we watched from in the station. We fled before we were identified, you know, and stole a car from out back. Nobody ever saw us. We're safe."

"I meant," Jackson said coldly. "_Now_ what do you plan to do about it?"

"We have the other Keefe girl."

"Excuse me?"

"It's not over y-yet," Garr explained, growing more confident. "Tompkins found the older girl at her private school and paid the two Secret Service morons to quietly lighten security. We've got her unconscious on the way back to Michigan now."

Jackson took a deep breath. "That was sloppy, Garr, too sloppy, and may very well cost you your life, but I suppose there's nothing else for me to do now but play along the lines of your idiotic correction. What state are you in now?"

"Idaho, sir."

"I want you to get to an airport, fly the girl to London," Jackson ordered. "_Do not leave her alone,_ even for a moment. If anyone questions, she is your niece. Have my secure cell number on hand if they request verification. Do you have identification made up for the Keefe girl yet?"

"Yes, sir," Garr replied obediently. "She's identified under Marie Wilkins, age fifteen. And we have already taken care of the disguise."

"Good. I want you to call Bernard for me and have him make up two additional IDs: I want a Leonard Wilkins, age twenty-nine, and a--" he covered the phone and turned to Lisa. "What do you want your name to be?" She scowled. He continued, "And a Candy Wilkins, also twenty-nine." Lisa moaned.

"Will do, Mr. Rippner. I just have one question."

"Hurry up, what is it?" Jackson sighed.

"Why London?"

"You know as well as I, Garr," Jackson snapped, lowering his voice. "It's more secure than the States, what with Keefe's older daughter now missing. It's where both the hit and the exchange will take place over the next several weeks. If you can't get there, Garr, we're fucked. Got that?"

"Understood, sir."

After several more harried demands, Jackson hung up, deserting Lisa and her inquires to hastily pack a bag in his bedroom. Unsurprisingly, Lisa threw open his door a moment later in an angry huff.

"What's going on?" she barked. "Where's Mel?"

"Melanie," Jackson sighed distractedly, pulling suit jackets from hangers, "is currently at home with her father, probably playing Candyland and watching the Teletubbies with Daddy dearest before she jets off to her next interview. Where, of course, she'll describe how wonderful her time spent with me was, drawing zebras on my Armani ties and making me want to kill myself."

Lisa sank to the floor, smiling euphorically. "It was a giraffe. So she's safe?"

"Yes, Lisa, she's safe. Go pack."

Her face brightened. Obviously, she'd forgotten about what she'd overheard of his phone conversation or hadn't comprehended it; everything about London and Sarah and the hit. "You're bringing me home?"

Irritated, he snarled, "No, I'm not bringing you home. The job isn't finished."

Lisa looked as if she were about to cry. This sudden influx of emotion, the one Jackson had been dying for, was now coming at the most inconvenient time possible and it aggravated him. Feeling his temper rise dangerously, he grabbed Lisa's wrists, pulling her to her feet and pushing her into the wall.

"Sarah Keefe," he hissed into her face. She turned her head away, wincing. "Is probably equally as valuable to Charles Keefe as little Melanie. And Sarah is considerably more important to the public. Preteens idolize her. She's practically a governmental pinup. If we have her, Keefe will be only too willing to come running to her aid. He'll come running to us in London, where, Leese, he will die."

"You're getting pretty skilled at this kidnapping of innocent children thing, aren't you, Jack?" Lisa sneered. "And you're getting more idiotic. You have me, you had Mel, and soon you'll have Sarah. Don't you think they'll trace it back to you?"

"Well, I guess I won't be going to any town pie-eating contests anytime soon, will I?" Jackson remarked. "Lisa, I'm wanted in over thirty countries and eighteen states. I've possessed over two hundred different aliases. This one is just another notch on my belt."

"But _kids,_ Jackson…"

He snorted. "Kids who'll turn into adults and have unimaginable worries. Trust me, Leese, I'm just doing them a favor."

She paled considerably, shuddering. "You—you're going to kill Sarah?"

"Only if her father is stupid enough to underestimate my demands."

Lisa suddenly, without warning, reached up to slap him, screaming, "What did Keefe ever do to you, huh? Why do you keep targeting this poor man and his family?"

Her nails had dug into his cheek, drawing blood. He felt it flow lightly down his face, and, as he grew increasingly aware of their disappearing time, he felt his temper surge yet again. His hand snapped to Lisa's throat, forcing her head back against the wall.

"Do you really think I give two damns about Keefe, Lisa?" he hissed. "This is just business, you should know that. You don't make the client happy; the client goes elsewhere with his money. What makes the client happy, in this case, is Keefe's lifeless corpse, so I'm just carrying out the task they set to earn my paycheck. Not all of us are good enough to work at the fucking Lux Atlantic."

Lisa's wide hazel eyes darted anxiously around, making strangled sputtering noises. "Breathe…let…me…"

Jackson released her, spinning his hand as he jerked it away so that she twirled around and slammed face-first back into the wall. He pressed her head into the wall, forcing his body against hers as he whispered fiercely into her ear, "Keep that in mind when you decide to get all self-righteous on me. Now go and pack."

Xx

Ten minutes later, Jackson met Lisa outside her door. He was the picture of frazzled and harried, she of sullen and bitter. In her hands she held merely a plastic bag carrying the clothes she'd arrived in plus a few replacements that Jackson had graciously provided.

She had pulled them from the bag when he'd tossed it to her their second night here, her brow wrinkling in disgust. She unfolded the tent-like garments and peered at the tags, glaring at Jackson as she spat, "Do I _look_ like a size 3X to you?"

He smirked. "Well, you _have_ put on a little weight…"

She had glowered and raised her fist, but Jackson interrupted. "I'm kidding, Leese, Jesus. I found them at the only store in town—which happens to be the thrift store. This was all I could find, so deal with it."

Lisa spread the ugly array of clothing upon the bed, and Jackson rolled his eyes at the way her eyes got misty merely over clothing. She sighed. "You picked these on purpose, didn't you?"

He paused only a moment before replying, "Yes. You'll wear the hats to cover your hair and the clothes will make you look ten pounds heavier."

Apparently knowing that there was nothing she could or cared to do about that aspect of her captivity, Lisa only sighed and put the clothes back in the bag.

Now she stood, resentfully clad in a giant navy sundress with her hair pulled into a messy braid beneath a hideous orange beret.

He snickered. "Clothes fit."

She refused to look at him, her face red and her grip tight on the bag. "I hate you."

Jackson adjusted the straps of duffel and laptop bags on his shoulder and instructed her to keep her hands in front of her while they walked to the car. She obliged, but only because Jackson threatened both the safety of her cousin and Sarah Keefe. Even so, she walked slowly and with a sarcastic, irate jaunt. They made it to the car with no serious incidents, and Jackson put the bags in the back and started the car.

They were already on the highway a good twenty miles from the house when Lisa finally spoke up again. This time, her voice was mocking, less fearful and upset than it had been back at the safe house. It was strange, Jackson noted, because as she said his name her voice had a bizarre sort of laugh to it.

"Jackson." 

"What?"

"You never turned the stove off, did you?"

_Damn it._


	20. Chapter 20

_If you would have me weep, you must first of all feel grief yourself._

_--Unknown_

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To Lisa's dismay, they'd boarded the plane smoothly and without the least bit of error. The flight attendants weren't even aware of the fact that a kidnapped woman and a wanted assassin were stepping onboard the London-bound red-eye. Instead, in the woman's exhausted, unsmiling eyes she was assisting the Wilkins, a cute pair of newlyweds traveling to their European honeymoon. She didn't notice the desperate, pained emotion in Lisa's own tired gaze, nor did she sense the tension between the two as Jackson tightly gripped Lisa's arm to prevent her escape. And the worst, Lisa thought, was that she didn't even recognize the face that was plastered all over the news.

The plane was crowded that night, which was unfortunate as Lisa knew that with the extra faces came a lessened likelihood that she would be recognized. The lack of proper makeup, hairstyle, and decent clothing also helped her blend simply in with the rest of the passengers; she was a nothing. They were seated in the back of the plane in a row of three, with an elderly woman seated next to Jackson. He'd given her a once-over as they'd sat down, but apparently deemed her harmless as she'd begun dozing as soon as her luggage was secured.

Lisa hated sitting next to the window, but Jackson had made it clear that she would not cause him trouble on this flight as soon as they'd entered the airport.

"I just received a call from the man watching your cousin," Jackson whispered in her ear as they walked to check-in. "She hasn't been doing so well since you left. The word on the street is that you ran away. Your father, apparently, is completely beside himself, going so far as to blame your _mother_. But back to Tanya: today is Christmas Eve, if you remember, and she's headed out to stay with your father. It would be _tremendously_ easy to kill them both, Leese, if you choose not to cooperate. There will be no warning, and I mean it this time. You do _one thing_, and they will be gone."

Lisa hadn't replied, her mind absorbed with thoughts of her family, heart filled with an aching sort of longing to see them again. For the past few days, she'd been trying to keep her thoughts away from them, instead doing exactly the opposite. It was rare for her to last merely a day without a phone call from her father, so this extended period with no contact was absolutely killing her. The thing she wanted most, more than anything, was to see her father again, to fall into his arms and bury her face into one of his familiar woolen sweaters. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go.

She had opted not to risk anything now, despite the knowledge that it would probably be her last chance for escape. When they met Sarah, Lisa knew she wouldn't want to chance hurting her merely for her own benefit. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, she decided, as neither time was opportune for her getaway.

As the plane took off, Lisa felt queasy and squeezed the armrest closest to the window, resting her other hand beneath her legs, far away from Jackson. He imperturbably glanced at her, his icy blue eyes scanning her quivering form with an air of amusement as he tossed a small plastic bag in her lap. "Have fun."

She pushed it back at him, closing her eyes as her ears popped horribly. "Leave me alone," she groaned, her voice sounding distant and far-off in her own ears. She pressed her forehead against the icy windowpane, willing herself to not be sick.

A flight attendant stopped at their row after the plane had steadied. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Jackson glanced at Lisa again. "I'll take a Coke…she'll have some water, and…would you maybe have some Dramamine?" Without looking, Lisa automatically knew that he was flashing her one of his charming, conniving little smiles that she'd grown to hate so bitterly.

"Of course," the flight attendant replied. "I'll be right back."

Lisa rested her head on her headrest, taking a deep, shaky breath. Jackson touched her shoulder and she flinched. "Relax," he murmured. "You'll be fine."

"This isn't about you, Jackson," Lisa hissed. "I hate flying, you know that. And I _don't feel well._"

"And how convenient that is for me," he snapped back, his voice mocking. Lisa forced her eyes open and stared at him. "It's nice to see that you're finally just laying down like a good dog and letting me work peacefully."

"I am not," Lisa began, clenching her teeth. "A d--"

"Here you go!" the attendant chirped merrily, yanking down Lisa's tray table to plop a cup full of water and a handful of pills on top. She did the same for Jackson, and he smiled gratifyingly. Lisa merely looked away, angry that she hadn't been able to protest Jackson's insult. "You two let me know if you need anything. Oh, and Merry Christmas!"

Jackson murmured a response, and as the flight attendant marched away he simply sipped his soda, turning only after several moments had passed to examine Lisa. She had swallowed the Dramamine and drank some of the water, but was still red-faced and fuming. "Struck a nerve, did I?"

"Screw you, Jackson," Lisa barked immediately. "If I'm a dog, then you're merely the ground I walk on."

"I wouldn't say that," Jackson replied scornfully, keeping his voice low. "Who's the one that's kept you fed these past few days? You've stayed alive of my good will alone. If my employers had had their way over the first job, you'd be dead already. I've kept you here mainly because I don't think you deserve that."

"Oh really?" Lisa rolled her eyes. "I don't _deserve_ that? But I somehow deserve to be stuck on a plane on Christmas Eve with the one person I hate most in the world?"

"You don't hate me as much as you think," Jackson answered shrewdly. "You only want to hate me. But you don't."

"Stop trying to make sense, Jack," Lisa spat. "Just because you analyze me to death doesn't mean you're right." She turned away, looking out into the inky black sky. Jackson tried to say more, but because she ignored him, he quieted after several minutes.

She dozed for several hours, sleep carrying her into the early hours of Christmas morning. The flight attendants, drowsily chatting behind them, broke into quiet caroling around one, and Lisa silently joined, reciting the lyrics in her head. It was an action begun out of boredom alone, but by the second song she found fat tears rolling down her face.

I'll be home for Christmas 

_You can count on me_

_We'll have snow_

_And mistletoe_

"And presents under the tree," she finished to herself, singing aloud in a quiet murmur. Lisa wiped her eyes with her sleeve, trying hard not to cry. This wasn't supposed to be happening. She wasn't supposed to be stuck with Jackson. Not now. Not this year. Not on Christmas.

Not ever.

XXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Joe Reisert sat up in bed, sighing as he glanced at his digital clock. It was precisely one in the morning. He smiled, reaching for the phone. It was Christmas morning, he had to call Lisa like he always—

Then it hit him. She was gone. Missing. She could be as close as several miles away or halfway across the world. But she wasn't here, where he wanted her the most. The truth of the matter was that he was alone. _Alone._

Joe slid out of bed, his feet cold on the hardwood floor. He fumbled blindly in the darkness for his slippers, but gave up the struggle after several moments. He walked down the hall and downstairs, heading for the living room.

He rested himself gingerly in his favorite armchair, his bones still sore from the hard plastic chair he'd sat in all the previous day at the police station. He stared idly across the room, his eyes settling on the illuminated tree in the corner. A small tear fell from his eye, landing on his lap. Lisa had bought him that tree a week ago, adamant that he celebrate what she deemed 'a real Christmas'. They'd decorated it together, with strands of store-bought garland and some cheesy red bobbles. Now he kind of wanted to tear it down; it was simply a bitter reminder that his daughter was no longer here.

He wanted to know where she was. The police were lazily assuming that she had run away, too old to be kidnapped and too sane to be lost. Her car, left at the Alliance cinema, banished that idea for her father. He knew she wouldn't go far without her car, nor her credit cards, which she had left in another purse at her house. Those too had been thoroughly examined, and had not been used to buy a ticket out of Miami. So where, Joe had protested, would she go? She most certainly was not at her mother's, where she should have been.

And she definitely wasn't here.

If he had to place his bets, he would say that the man from the red-eye was involved, whatever the hell that freak's name was. Lisa had always remained remotely cautious of him, not frightened, surely, but wary. She had confided that she thought, maybe, he would try and contact her again, and Joe believed that was exactly what he had done.

Tanya had admitted to Lisa's strange behavior after the movie, but had maintained that her cousin was definitely alone. So, Joe wondered, had Lisa agreed to meet the man there, or had she somehow been coerced into doing so? Was his life on the line again, or someone else's?

When Charles Keefe's daughter had been kidnapped, Joe had been positive of a connection back to Lisa. Although the police were nearly certain that he was wrong, a gut feeling pushed Joe into believing that the red-eye man had not only kidnapped Lisa, but this child as well. Because he was unsure of why, the police refused to pursue that only lead, informing Joe that, "it was too risky to play on such a shallow idea."

And then there was that other possibility.

Joe hadn't told the police about Izmailovskaya, knowing that, if they had Lisa like he feared, or even if they didn't, he would further anger them by reporting their actions to the authorities. After all, legal action was what had pissed them off in the first place, irreversibly making him and his family a target of the organization for the rest of his life. And they were above the police, anyway. They'd proven that to him the first time.

Joe's early retirement had been the result of a good job gone awry. A prominent Miami lawyer, he'd sent many a criminal to jail, including one of the most influential members of the international crime association. Ignorantly, he'd gleefully taken the case, selfishly knowledgeable that a successful handling would boost his career more than he could imagine. He'd been successful. At least at work, anyway.

A day after the case was finalized, he began to receive threatening messages from an anonymous source. They didn't target him alone, but also his then-wife and the sixteen-year-old Lisa. Frightened, Joe reported the threats to the police daily as he received them, with no consequences for the unknown perpetrators. Unknown to the _police,_ anyway. Joe knew fully what was going on. Stupidly, he refused to retire from law permanently until ten years later. By then, it was too late.

A year earlier, Lisa had fallen victim to a seemingly random attack. On her way home from work, Joe was told by another anonymous note, a member of the organization had been sent to kill her. To elongate the job and strengthen the point they were trying to make, his daughter was brutally raped. Hurrying along towards the end as several people approached the scene of the crime, the rapist had slashed at Lisa's neck, missing and hitting just below her collarbone. While she had not died, the incident had frightened Joe enough to submit to the organization's demands and quit. He managed to convince his ex-wife and Lisa that his early retirement was simply an indulgence he'd been looking forward to for many years, and they remained unapprised of the brand on all of their lives.

Joe feared deeply that they had his daughter now, finally ready, after all these years, to finish the revenge they had promised to reward him. He prayed to himself that they were not behind her disappearance, knowing that what she was bound for with them was a slow torture and a painful death. He wished instead that he was the one to die. Not his daughter. Not his baby. Not Lisa.

The silence too loud for Joe's ears, he clicked on the television, clicking past the too-cheerful Christmas specials to the late-night (or early morning, he decided) news. Unsurprisingly, his daughter was again the subject. He inwardly wished that he had never gone to the police, as this publicity was certainly not helping the case any.

"…missing for nearly a week after mysteriously disappearing from a movie theater in her hometown," the ruddy-faced newscaster reported, shuffling papers. "Any information on this case should be reported immediately to local authorities. In other news, mere hours after the safe return of Charles Keefe's youngest daughter, his eldest child was snatched from her school in Idaho. An investigation is currently underway as to her whereabouts and there have been no suspects determined as of yet."

Joe sat up straighter, color draining from his face. Guiltily, he desperately hoped that the red-eye assassin was behind Sarah Keefe's disappearance. For if he was, then it was highly likely that he had Lisa as well, probably to resurrect the old threat on Keefe's life or something of the nature. If not, well, then, Lisa was most likely with Izmailovskaya or dead. He leaned back in his armchair, closing his eyes and praying.

_Lisa, please…find your way home. I need to know you're okay._


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: Haha, go me, two updates at once! Whoooo! Anyway, review lots, and I'll try to have some more up shortly. Hopefully by later this week. Cheers!

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_Ah! the perfidious English!_

-_Jacques Benique Bossuet_

Jackson had always hated England. The weather too downcast and the natives too cheery, he tried to avoid the country as much as humanly possible. Unfortunately, much of his work seemed to be centered there, like this project, and he always wound up at the same old motel.

The Cheshire Inn, a drab old dump of a place, rested on the outskirts of London, roughly twenty miles from the hotel. It was a waste of time to drive from the inner city all the way to the motel and then all the way back in again, where he would later be residing with Lisa and Sarah, but necessary. If Jackson was ever traced by the police, they'd find this backtracking odd and become disoriented and thus it guaranteed his safety.

A car was waiting for him at the airport, driven by an old associate of his, one who'd grown with the company into old age and was now demoted to playing cabbie. The man, Arnold, had been in Britain so long that he'd begun to add an English lilt to every word and 'oi' to every other sentence. And judging by the way he stared at Lisa as she slid into the backseat of the rundown car, he was very, very lonely. Jackson merely glared at the man as he slammed his door.

"Where to, boss?"

"The Cheshire. Of course." Arnold nodded and they took off down the winding street towards the inn.

Lisa had been quiet for the duration of the flight, sighing every once and a while and groaning whenever they hit turbulence. Though he'd been bored, Jackson had graciously opted out of badgering her. Though he'd never been celebratory, his silence would be her only Christmas present.

Now, he silently kept his eyes on her as she watched London fly by her window. He knew that she had never traveled out of the states before, and also that she had a strong sense of curiosity. _If anything else, she must be interested, at least. _"Do you like it?" he asked thoughtfully.

"What?"

"The scenery."

She shrugged dejectedly, obviously lying when she answered, "It's fine."

"Big Ben 'ere, erected in 1893," Arnold sang as they passed said tower. Jackson rolled his eyes.

"We're not tourists, Arnold."

"Sorry."

It was snowing when they arrived at the Cheshire, and Lisa shivered as they stepped onto the curb. Jackson grabbed their bags and ushered her inside.

A sleepy concierge dozed at the desk, head lolling on the keyboard. Jackson tapped impatiently and the girl snapped to attention, nearly hitting her head on the bulky, outdated computer. "Name?" she inquired hastily with a thick Welsh accent, her fingers tapping away on the keyboard.

"Wilkins."

"Ah, Mr. Wilkins," she greeted warmly with an air of familiarity. Jackson's company regularly used the Cheshire as a drop-off point, always under the name Wilkins and always under Jackson's face, but always with a different story. The concierge smiled. "Miss Peterson is waiting in room 19 with your daughter. Have a lovely Christmas."

"You as well." Jackson noted smugly that the girl didn't even glance at Lisa before returning to her nap. The guise had worked well.

They walked down a narrow hallway that smelled sickeningly of tomatoes and cat food before arriving outside the splintered door of room 19. Lisa looked at Jackson. "I don't understand," she protested. "What's going on?"

"We're picking up my daughter," he explained, sighing impatiently as he rapped on the door. "From my ex-wife, as per custody agreements."

Lisa muttered something under her breath, something that sounded like 'sneaky, despicable bastard' but Jackson ignored her and returned to pounding on the door with a satisfied grin.

It swung open seconds later, and he was greeted by a scowling albeit recognizable face. Yvonne Brenton, aka Laura Peterson, glared at him, grabbing him by his jacket as she yanked him inside. Jackson growled, hating the way that women always felt they could push him around like some sort of toy. Not only did he pull the insipid woman from him, but he also shoved her brusquely so she fell into the wall to emphasize his point.

"You're late," she barked as she picked herself up. Jackson heard Lisa snort, and forced himself not to hit her. Obviously she was amused by this woman's aggression with him.

Grabbing Lisa and pulling her next to him, "I also had _this,_ and, Brenton, may I remind you of where your paycheck comes from?"

She opened her mouth to protest, then fell silent as Jackson pushed past her to address Thomson and Garr.

Lisa was whining something at him, something about her distaste at being referred to as 'this', but Jackson's mind was occupied with more important matters. He turned first to Thomson, whose face paled considerably under Jackson's icy glower.

"The next time that your need to piss upsets one of my jobs," Jackson spat angrily, "I will permanently arrange it so that you will never have that need. _Ever. Again._"

Thomson nodded meekly, shamefacedly stepping behind Garr, who cleared his throat nervously and gestured to the bound and gagged teenager resting on the only bed in the room. Lisa, noticing the girl, made a strangled noise and broke away from Jackson, kneeling at her side. She glared up at Jackson, futilely struggling to free the girl of her restraints. "Is this really necessary?" she hissed at him, her fingers fumbling at the knot of the rope binding the conscious teenager's feet.

"Is it?" Jackson raised an eyebrow, turning to Garr, who nodded avidly.

"She's more fiery than you would expect," Garr announced, pointing to a small indentation on his hand with an expression of martyrdom plastered over his face. "She bit me!"

Jackson sighed, helping Lisa to untie the girl amidst the protestations of both Garr and Thomson. "How do you expect we explain this to all the people we pass on the way to the hotel?" Jackson questioned derisively.

As soon as he callously ripped the tape from her mouth, Keefe's daughter began screaming a steady stream of curses at him. He instantly clapped his hand over her lips as Brenton leapt to her feet to assure that the hallway was empty.

"If you want to die," Jackson hissed at Sarah Keefe, "then I'd suggest you keep screaming."

"Leave her alone!" Lisa yelled at Jackson, crazily pushing him backwards and away from the girl. The room quieted as Jackson backhanded Lisa sharply across the face and she flew to the floor in a heap.

"Do that again, Lisa," he snapped. "I dare you."

She exhaled sharply, her eyes conveying hate to him as she weakly rose on shaky legs. Brenton laughed coldly at her, hawk like features unsmiling. Lisa ignored the other woman, her jaw tensing. "Don't hit me," she muttered to Jackson. It was enough. Jackson raised his fist, willing to hit her again merely to prove a point to his colleagues and Lisa alike, when he felt himself being restrained by an unknown figure behind him. He yanked his arm from their grasp and turned to see Sarah Keefe facing him, fists raised bravely in front of her.

"She was standing up for _me,_" Sarah told him, apparently trying to be courageous. Jackson tried not to chuckle as he glanced at her trembling body. "You shouldn't have a problem with that."

"I have a problem with stupid women who think that their big mouths compensate for their weakness," Jackson answered angrily, rising from the bed and clapping his hands together. "Let's go. I don't have all day."

Brenton nodded, also standing. "I'll walk you out. Make sure you don't have any problems with _her._" She jerked her thumb at Lisa.

"I can handle her, Brenton," Jackson snarled defensively._ Just because she fucking stabbed me in the throat doesn't mean that I'm afraid of her_, he thought bitterly._ Nor does it imply that she's stronger._

Brenton smirked smugly. "Well, then. Just in case."

"Like I'd be afraid of you," Lisa snorted, apparently surprising both Brenton and herself. Jackson grinned. _Brenton really has no idea…_ "Who are you pretending to be, Cat Woman or something?"

Brenton scowled, stepping closer to Lisa and radiating a furious energy. Jackson cautiously pulled Lisa to him. Lisa jerked away, moving towards Brenton. He sensed a fight and forced her back. "Like you're much better there, Princess Jasmine," Brenton snarled.

Lisa growled, obviously itching for a fight after all the time spent cooped up, _behaving,_ on the airplane, and slapped the other woman in the face. Jackson sighed. _This again…Jesus…I don't get paid enough._ Brenton, of course, hit back, and before the situation could get worse, Jackson dragged Lisa away, with Thomson, hulking Neanderthal that he was, restraining Brenton.

"Are we twelve?" he whispered disapprovingly in Lisa's ear.

"Fuck you," she barked at him, struggling.

"_Daddy_ and _Cousin_ would be proud, Leese," he reminded her, and she stilled, her chest heaving from her efforts. Brenton wrenched away from Thomson, marching off to glower in the bathroom.

Garr nervously spoke up. "Uh…Jackson?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"Where did she go?"

Looking down at Lisa, he sneered, "Where did _who_ go?"

Just as he asked it and Garr replied, Jackson remembered, and cursed himself for his stupidity and negligence.

"Sarah Keefe."

Lisa grinned at him as Jackson shoved her away and took off down the hall, Garr's words echoing in his ears, "_Fuck_."


	22. Chapter 22

_Once we realize that imperfect understanding is the human condition there is no shame in being wrong, only in failing to correct our mistakes.  
----George Soros_

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Lisa had little time to rejoice over Sarah's small victory before she began fretting over what to do next. Without thinking of any sort of consequence, she lashed out at Jackson's arm as he sprinted for the door, surprising herself as the sleeve of his suit jacket tore under her fingernails. He shot a vicious glare laced with obvious enmity at her before turning and continuing his pursuit.

She stumbled haphazardly after him on the lumpy carpet, feeling herself being dragged backwards at the doorway. Lisa savagely sank her teeth into the hand clambering for control of her angry, screaming mouth, yanking herself away from Brenton as the repulsive woman screeched and clutched her bleeding hand.

Lisa had no idea what exactly she intended to do as she clambered after Jackson, but her speed did not slow as she chased him to the stairs. Despite this, everything else seemed to become sluggish and languid, as if she was moving in a dream; Lisa was reverted to her field hockey days when she had just wanted to go _faster._ She watched as Sarah reached the end of the hallway, where a set of stairs beckoned gloriously to upper levels, where she would be able to find help. The girl's face illuminated and Lisa cheered as Sarah hopped agilely from the second step to the landing. Lisa stretched her arm out to stop Jackson; apparently, he had the same idea and he swung at Sarah Keefe's feet, sending her flying to the floor as he himself collapsed. Lisa, too, felt herself spiraling downwards, her arm caught on Jackson's shoes. Jackson growled and tugged at Sarah's feet, pulling her closer to him until soon she was pinned beneath his body, struggling. Lisa made to jump to her feet and attack Jackson, but felt a pair of wiry arms pulling her back. She bellowed, thrashing wildly about at her attacker, preparing to use her teeth again.

"Stop, stop!" a raspy voice cried at her in a thick English accent, an intensely unfamiliar voice that seemed to catch Jackson's attention as well. "The police are on their way!"

_Police. Help. Over._ Lisa sucked in a hopeful breath and stared at Jackson, who glared venomously at the man holding Lisa, quickly whipping a switchblade from his jacket and pressing it to Sarah's neck. "Come any closer, you two, and I'll kill her."

"Let her go, Jackson!" Lisa hollered. "You're not going to achieve anything here. The game is _over._"

"For you, it may be," he hissed, drawing a ragged breath, wincing. Lisa tried hard not to grin smugly; she knew the scar tissue on his neck was killing him. "But not for us." Lisa had little time to ponder over what he meant by this, as within seconds he had leapt to his feet—the knife still at Sarah's throat—and bolted for the door nearest to the stairwell. Lisa's ears rang as her own screaming became too loud for her eardrums, wrenching herself from the man's grasp and sprinting after Jackson. But she was too late—she watched as Brenton and Garr helped force Sarah into the back of another car, and as Jackson climbed into the driver's seat, smirking at Lisa as he sped away. She collapsed, her knees scraping the snow-dusted pavement as she covered her face, still yelling, only now her scream was mournful and anguished rather than desperate and frantic.

The man had joined her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as a police car arrived. He helped her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her as they walked slowly back inside to the lobby. Lisa shivered, feeling dizzy and nauseous with remorse as a rush of heat greeted them back inside the motel. She cried freely, sinking onto a couch as the man—whom she now noticed was elderly, much older than her father—walked to the desk and began to explain what little he knew of the situation. In the back of her mind, Lisa wished that she could be of more help, but the rest of her brain was occupied with thoughts of one person: Sarah Keefe. Sarah Keefe, in the back of Jackson's car, Sarah Keefe, being punished for trying to escape, Sarah Keefe, being hurt, Sarah Keefe, Sarah Keefe, poor Sarah Keefe.

The elderly man returned, accompanied this time with an equally aged woman, both of them smiling warmly at her. The woman joined her on the uncomfortable sofa, taking Lisa's trembling hand. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"L-Lisa Reisert."

The woman looked surprised, obviously shocked that Lisa was American, a tourist in such a state of duress. Her next words elucidated her astonishment. "Are you the woman from all those news reports about the missing children?"

Lisa wearily nodded. "I didn't take them."

Wrapping her arms around Lisa in a maternal hug, the woman replied comfortingly, "Oh, no, love, we know. We know what happened. I never thought such a thing would continue here, though…so horrible…"

The man cleared his throat, beckoning the woman to him. "Bette…" She nodded and softly broke away from Lisa, joining the man in a hushed discussion on the other side of the room. After several minutes, they returned, looking uneasy but at the same time pleased.

"Miss Reisert," the man said, and Lisa wanted to protest, to ask him to call her Lisa, but found that she didn't have the strength. "We know the police will be wanted to speak with you, but we also know that since you are from abroad, you most likely presently do not have lodging to speak of."

She shook her head, still concerned that they believed she was a terrorist or a kidnapper. "No, I don't. I just arrived about an hour ago, and you must understand, I didn't kidnap those children; I was brought here against my will by that man—you saw that man, sir, the one with the knife—and--"

He held up a hand. "I saw what happened. I saw you try to stop him, Miss Reisert. Nobody here thinks that you are a criminal, and I'm sure the law enforcement will not either. You are an innocent victim."

"I'm not a victim," she argued tearfully, trying not to think of how this was the third time in the past two years that she'd received that title. "I'm _not._ I fought, okay? I tried to help Sarah. I tried…I….now…now he'll _hurt_ her…" She knew she wasn't making sense, and she didn't care.

Bette clicked her tongue sadly and helped Lisa to her feet. "Dear, when was the last time you had a decent meal? Or slept?"

"I don't…I don't remember…"

"Come, then," she offered genially. "We live only a small trip from here, you see, I'm a cleaning lady here and this is my husband, Harry. We were coming in to collect my paycheck, as we'd rather procrastinated on our Christmas shopping this year and were just heading out tonight to complete it. Harry heard the commotion and went to check, when of course, he incidentally discovered your grievous situation. And Miss Reisert, we really would love to do all we can to help you out. No woman deserves to be in this condition." She smiled lightly and tapped Lisa's chin. "Especially not one as pretty as you."

Lisa wanted to return the smile, to thank her for the compliment and politely decline the assistance, but the only words she could manage were, "I can't."

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't…I can't…the police will want to…talk to me…arrest me…something. I won't be allowed to go anywhere until I do."

"Miss Reisert," Harry interrupted her imperiously, shocking her with his vigor. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that sleep and comfort take precedence over the stupid police."

_Don't trust them!_ A tiny pessimistic voice in Lisa screamed for attention. She noticed it for a moment, hesitating as Harry and Bette waited for her acceptance. She looked carefully at them, scrutinizing carefully. _Can I trust them? They look innocent enough, but…that's what I thought of Jackson when I first met him, too._

They're an old couple, she realized, goading herself into compliance. There's no way that they could _possibly_ be affiliated with Jackson in any way. Lisa pushed her hair from her face, sighing. "Okay. Let me give the police a contact number, and then I'll come with you."

XXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Lisa found herself laughing for the first time in days as Bette pushed another weathered photograph at her. She sipped her hot chocolate, her lips curling into a smile as her eyes danced over the face of a resolute three-year-old.

"They made a snow fort," Harry explained, jutting his thumb over his shoulder. "In the backyard. Louise worked all day on it, forming her bastion, determined to defeat her big brother."

"Who won?"

"Andrew, of course," Bette answered with a chuckle, stirring her tea as she referred to the boy Lisa had deduced was her only son. "He had a much better throwing arm. But they had fun, understand…"

Lisa smirked, feeling rested for the first time in a while. It was early Christmas morning, and a light snow continued to fall, a thick layer forming on the ground. Lisa wished that this journey had been under different circumstances, as London was absolutely gorgeous, especially under a blanket of snow.

The police had traveled to Bette and Harry's house to question her, asserting that she most certainly was not a suspect but that they desperately needed her help. They'd purchased for her a plane ticket back to the States for the next day so that the case could be continued there, since being relatively uninvolved in the Melanie/Sarah Keefe/Lisa Reisert kidnapping cases so far they wished to let the American law enforcement maintain their work. The police had been kind and patient, asking few questions but leaving Lisa with a spinning, pensive mindset.

She'd headed to bed around ten, exhausted and jet-lagged, collapsing in the guest bedroom of the elderly couple's spacious home on the outskirts of the city. Her initial paranoia of the couple had been missing since they had arrived at the house, when Lisa had noticed the ceramic pig cookie jar and the family photos littering the mantelpiece, and so she'd had no problem drifting off to sleep. However, around two hours later she'd woken with a start, certain that she'd seen Jackson's sneering face in the window. Once she'd double-checked the locks on the windows and convinced herself that it was, in fact, a dream, she'd been unable to go back to sleep and had headed downstairs. Bette and Harry had woken up several minutes later, faced with a rapidly apologizing Lisa. They'd been gracious and lighthearted, producing several hot beverages and a photo album that they had been poring over for the past hour, with purpose little more than to set Lisa's anxiety at ease.

Lisa gently pushed the photos aside, finishing her drink and staring at the clock. She should be in bed. She needed her energy for the flight home tomorrow, and then the law and press bombardment she would receive immediately upon arrival. But she couldn't. Her body was antsy, her mind was jumpy, and her thoughts too muddled for her to rest. Instead, she turned contemplatively to Harry and said, "I wonder how…how there can be so many horrible people in the world, like Jackson, and so many horrible things happening, yet…somehow…there are still people like _you._ People who don't even know me but welcome me into their home—and on a holiday, even—like a daughter."

Harry smiled and rubbed her bare arm. "Love, all I know is that if _my_ daughter were in your situation, I could only pray that some soul would offer her some sort of hospitality and comfort in something like this. You've been through so much, dear, anyone who wouldn't help you is cruel."

Bette agreed. "I can't imagine."

Lisa rubbed her eyes, swollen from so much crying the day before. "I just wish…I wish that I wasn't the one sitting with you now. It could've been Sarah Keefe, but I was stupid, I let Jackson get away…"

Harry gasped, outraged. "Lisa, it was _not your fault._ You did the best you could, you put up a good fight, a heroic one. Miss Keefe knows that. And don't fret. The police will find that repulsive man soon enough, you trust me."

"But that's the thing," Lisa mourned. "I don't think they will. He's skilled at slipping through the cracks, at disguising himself when need be. He even told me so himself. He's done it before; I have no doubt he'll do it again."

"But see," Bette answered, and her words stuck with Lisa for quite some time after their discussion, "It was different before, with everything else he did. Because before, you weren't there. With you, Lisa, pitted against him, he's going to have to work _twice_ as hard."

XXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Lisa awoke promptly at nine o'clock, uncertain of what had woken her. She'd been surprised that she'd been able to get back to sleep in the first place, having headed back to bed at roughly two in the morning after her conversation with Bette and Harry. But her sleep had been astoundingly restful, unafflicted by nightmares of blue-eyed monsters. So she wondered why she'd been jerked so cruelly from such a comfortable, deep sleep.

Despite the warm sheets encasing her in the bed, she sat up and slid her feet to the cool tiles. _It's Christmas,_ she thought with a sort of childlike giddiness, smiling to herself as the sweet scent of hazelnuts drifted to her room from downstairs. Regardless of the events of the past few days and the worry that still existed over Sarah Keefe, Lisa couldn't help but be a bit excited to go home to see her family. She felt a new sort of spring in her step as she opened the door and headed downstairs.

_Bette and Harry must be making some sort of special English Christmas breakfast,_ she thought, her stomach growling in anticipation. She'd discovered the night before that they were excellent cooks, preparing her a wonderful pasta and dessert for supper, and was eager to see what they had readied for Christmas breakfast.

The lights were on in the kitchen, Lisa noticed as she stepped from the landing, and quickened her pace, calling, "Merry Christmas!"

There was no reply, and as Lisa heard a clang she realized it must be because they couldn't hear her over the clamor of pots and pans. She stepped over the threshold, calling another greeting, but when she entered the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Lisa's eyes widened and a scream halted halfway to her mouth as she stumbled backwards, feeling bile rise in her throat. _No, this can't be happening…it's just another dream…another nightmare…this wouldn't…_

Jackson Rippner stood, smirking, over the lifeless bodies of Bette and Harry, his lips curling into a condescending sneer as he greeted, "Merry Christmas, Leese."


	23. Chapter 23

And if I know you you're doin' that thing,  
Every day just doin' that thing,  
I can't take you doing that thing you do

_--The Wonders, __That Thing You Do_

xxx

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xxx

xxx

Jackson watched, a coy grin spread upon his lips, as Lisa's eyes widened and she naively backed herself into a corner. Then, without hesitating for even a second longer, he stepped out from the shadows and unveiled himself before her, repeating the line that he'd practiced all night. "Merry Christmas, Leese."

Her lips were moving, however, no words were escaping the ruby-red mouth. She swallowed hard, staring first at the corpses of Bette and Harry and then back to Jackson. Lisa's entire body was shaking noticeably within the thin confines of the ratty old pair of polka-dot pajamas that the elderly couple had lent her. He tacitly extended his hand, offering her one last chance to overlook his malevolence and comply with him.

"W-what…"

"Let's go, Lisa," Jackson demanded, his tone stern and his jaw set. "_Now._ I've had enough of this ludicrous behavior, it's time to finish the job we started half a year ago."

With great tumult, Lisa rapidly shook her head and darted away, her vibrant pajamas sending flashes of color before his eyes as she dashed around the corner. Jackson sighed blatantly, already growing weary of her energetic, practically ebullient escapes. He jogged sluggishly after her as she stumbled up the stairs.

A small, hexagonal end table came projecting down the stairs at him, a loose piece of wood on the leg slicing his arm through his sleeve. Swearing, Jackson cursed Lisa's constant belief that she thought she could offset him with what she deemed to be impervious little bastions. He pushed the table out of his path and thundered up the carpeted steps with renewed vigor and rage.

He hesitated at the landing, slowing his breathing and listening as intently as possible for signs of her movement as she had, it seemed, disappeared. His blue eyes darted around as spastically as those of a small reptile, and he finally heard a small commotion in a bedroom nearby. The door was closed, an evident clue to Lisa's not-so-secret hiding place. "Lisa," he called playfully, his lip curling into a snarl as he pressed a hand to staunch the flow of blood from his bicep. He pushed open the door with his foot and stepped inside. "The longer you insist on acting like a child, the longer I prolong your stay with me…"

With a tribal wail, Lisa popped out from the vacant doorway and sent a large, unidentified object at his head. He ducked, pushing it out of the way with his blood-covered hand, and chased after her, growling. She darted around the corner with a small yelp.

"Fuck, Lisa!" he hollered. "You're not helping things!"

He cornered her in the next room she idiotically chose to run to, grabbing the door she attempted to slam shut and shoving it forwards. It hit her squarely in the face, forcing a watery moan as the plywood frame connected with her nose. She stumbled back against the wall, apparently stunned, as Jackson released his grip on the door and he used his hands to push her head against the wall.

Her face was covered with a reddish brown stain, both from her nose, which he had caused, and from his hands, which she had caused. It was a blissful reunion in which he used his fingers to hold her head back, their blood flowing together as one steady stream.

"See, Lisa," he purred. "This is what you get when you play hard to get."

"Sarah," she rasped, her voice pained but not accented of a broken nose. Jackson was thankful; a broken nose could complicate things later in the job. "Leave her alone."

"Right now, Leese, I'd be more worried about yourself," Jackson hissed. "Do you realize how seriously you fucked yourself by running away?"

She wheezed a little, slipping. Jackson cursed; he'd wanted her compliant but not unconscious. He shook her a bit, but her eyelids closed and she fainted, falling not into his arms but sliding to the floor as he disgustedly let her bloody body collapse. _Fucking wonderful._

He wasn't necessarily worried about police interference at this stage. After all, he'd been efficient and quiet when murdering that pesky old couple: there was little chance a neighbor had heard. And besides, even if the police did begin to meddle, there was little they could accomplish. Joe Reisert was one of the few that realized that organizations such as Jackson's surpassed the police force by miles.

He was more concerned about time at this point. Sarah Keefe had been left at a new hotel in London with Garr, Brenton, and Thompson, but this assured him little. The three, with the frequent exception of Brenton, were all moronic and dimwitted, ill suited to guard after a fiery teenager. Especially not a fiery teenager with the obstinacy of a young donkey, or, in other words, with obstinacy the likes of Lisa Reisert.

Jackson contemplated Lisa's motionless body on the floor for a moment, after a few seconds stooping to pick her up. "Jesus, Lisa," he swore quietly, straining his muscles. "Talk about dead weight."

He carried her silently to where a car waited in the back, carefully to cradle her body as if playfully carrying a girlfriend to a date. He jostled her body enough so that it would appear to an outsider that she was moving herself, and spoke in light, casual tones as he set her in the front seat. Surveying the placid English neighborhood once more, Jackson trudged through a light frosting of snow to the driver's side and started the car. Piece of cake.

The drive to London was, thankfully, unimpeded by traffic in the dearth of a morning commute. Jackson whistled to himself throughout the journey, uninterested by the religious Christmas carols blasting from every radio station he could pick up. He reflected upon how smoothly the murders had been executed, how such a huge blunder had been dealt with so little error.

Lisa's escape had been inevitable, Jackson knew, as she was born for rebellion. He'd been hoping that her insolence would quiet at least while Sarah was with them. Sarah Keefe provided enough uncontrollable rebellion for the whole group; Lisa's addition was definitely not needed. Jackson felt that the entire ordeal at the Cheshire had been partially his fault. After all, he knew Lisa better than he felt he knew himself, and Sarah Keefe was a risk he never should have agreed to take. Kidnapping a toddler was dicey enough; but a teenager, let alone a feisty one with the rest of America backing her? Jackson stood no chance.

Sarah had been drugged with Domar during the journey to the London hotel. Though it was doubtful, Jackson prayed that the brat was still out cold. He didn't need further complications when he carried Lisa into the room. A conscious Sarah would most likely attempt to injure/kill him or liberate Lisa. Jackson bit his lip, scowling. He _hated_ gallantry.

Jackson glanced over at the peacefully dozing Lisa. His features softened as he cruised down the street. He almost wished that he hadn't killed the old couple. Not that it hadn't been necessary, of course, but it certainly had eliminated any chance for a progression in his relationship with Lisa. Plus, it made her interminably more difficult to deal with. He pensively tapped the steering wheel, sullenly contemplative until he reached the London hotel.

This hotel was infinitely more elaborate than the last, decorated with sophisticated holiday lighting and dusted with snow from the early morning storm. A concierge was waiting at the front desk with his key, confirming that, indeed, the rest of his party had already arrived. Upon viewing Lisa's unconscious form draped in his arms, Jackson merely rolled his eyes, throwing a week at the bewildered English man. "Holiday party last night," he explained simply, and the concierge grinned before bidding Jackson a merry Christmas.

He rapped loudly on the door of suite 5817, grunting as he shifted Lisa's body against his. _Goddamit, she's heavy._ Brenton opened the door, brushing a strand of hair away from her chiseled face and scowling as she stared disgustedly at Lisa. She lightly fingered her hand, where Jackson noticed with a grin a large red scab.

"I don't see why you had to bring _her_ back," Brenton complained. "She wasn't even relevant to the job; she's just your little _plaything._"

"She's not," Jackson protested with a snarl, dumping Lisa's body on a bed after pushing past the insufferable woman. "Are you forgetting the second part of the job? With Izmailovskaya?"

Brenton sobered considerably before sulking away. Jackson smirked satisfactorily and watched her retreating back before surveying the room.

Garr and Thomson sat lethargically before the suite's only television, lounging jointly on a leather couch in the living room. Sarah Keefe sat on the armchair nearest to the sofa, her hands discreetly cuffed behind her back, concealed by a pillow just in case a stranger entered the room, though this was highly unlikely given the security precautions Jackson had taken. She was awake, though certainly not spared from the moody side effects of Domar. Jackson strode rapidly over to her, cupping her chin between his fingers.

"Feeling better, pumpkin?" he mocked. She glared and spat at him, convulsing under his grip.

"Get _away_ from me," Sarah hissed. "You ugly, stupid, disgusting man!"

"Ouch," Jackson replied with a sneer, releasing her and joining Garr and Thomson in crude gales of laughter. Sarah set her jaw and turned to stare at the screen, apparently willing herself not to retaliate. Jackson antagonistically rested himself on the arm of Sarah's chair, his chest near her face. "What are you watching?"

She ignored him, and although the question was directed at her, Garr answered. "That Thing You Do. Good movie. Kinda older. 'Sgot Tom Hanks in it. I like him. Ever seen Forrest Gump, Jackson? That's a good movie. _Good_ movie."

"It insults me that you have enough time on your hands to watch teenager movies," Jackson answered swiftly and crisply, sending both Garr and Thomson stumbling to their feet.

"What do you want us to do?"

Jackson coldly looked them up and down, sickened by their sloppy appearances. _And I pay them…?_ "I want you to head back to Berlin."

"Berlin? Why?"

"Headquarters there is expecting you. Take Brenton, the flight arrangements have been finalized. I need you to complete the Goëten project. You have a month. Goodbye." Garr and Thomson both knew better than to ask questions, so both stumbled away, pulling Brenton and their small amount of luggage with them.

Once the door had slammed, an eerie quiet spare the minimal noise of the television arrested the suite. Jackson checked in on Lisa; she was still asleep, although he wished futilely she were awake. The room was free of any intruders, and Sarah had not made a peep. He sat gingerly on the couch near her, which disgustingly still held the shape of Garr and Thomson's bodies. He stood back up, pacing.

On the television, the boy band broke into song, one whose nature itself annoyed Jackson. He raised an eyebrow at Sarah, who shrugged. "I didn't pick it," she muttered crankily.

Nevertheless, Jackson found himself humming as he strolled back to Lisa's bed to check, yet again, on her. He sat on the bed, his weight shifting her body only slightly, and pulled the covers to her chin, lightly whispering the lyrics. To his surprise, he automatically reached for a stray lock of auburn hair that was splashed across her eyes and tucked it behind her ear, quietly singing for the first time in his life. And the strange part was, he wasn't even sure why.

"_Oh you_," he tried to stop himself, knowing he would wake Lisa, and found himself not caring. He smirked, noting how ironically the lyrics were relevant to the current situation. "_Do those things you do_…."


	24. Chapter 24

_Anger, tears and sadness are only for those who have given up_

_--Katie Gill_

xx

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Lisa awoke painfully to a bright light and several obnoxious scraping sounds, accompanied, of course, by Jackson's significantly more abhorrent voice.

"Lisa. Wake up. We're leaving."

"Headache."

"Too bad," he barked, grabbing her arm and throwing her plastic bag of clothing at her before continuing his packing. "Put something on. You were last seen in those pajamas, I can't have you leaving here in them."

Scowling, Lisa dug through the bag, her fingers randomly selecting a hideous green sweater and a pair of trousers. "These suck."

"If Sarah can put up with it, you can too," Jackson grunted, nudging a lump in the bed near Lisa. Standing up, Lisa noticed the lump move and realized that it was a person entirely covered by the thick satin comforter. She gasped and pointed, outraged.

"Jackson! You put somebody in a _bed_ with me?"

A sleepy head of tousled blond hair poked out from beneath the fortress of blankets, and following that, a hand, the latter of which scrubbed at her sleep-encrusted eyes. Lisa cocked her head inquisitively at the person, realizing with a jolt a second later that it was Sarah Keefe.

"Bastard," she growled at Jackson through a curtain of hair. He smirked and lovingly patted his pocket.

"Do we need a reminder of what would happen should we choose to get mouthy again, Sarah?"

Sarah merely bit her lip and looked away, apparently crestfallen by the aspect of punishment. Lisa sighed, averting Jackson's eyes to her, and she questioned, "Where could we possibly be going now? We just _got_ here."

"Too many questions get you into trouble, Leese," Jackson admonished curtly. "Change. Now."

Acrimoniously, Lisa huffed and puffed all the way to the bathroom. Inside, she locked the door, barring Jackson any possible view of her naked self, and looked around. The logo on miniaturized versions of shampoo bottles and lotions brought her to the understanding that she was in some sort of hotel. A ritzy one, at that. The polished décor reminded her with a nostalgic jolt of the Lux Atlantic as she fingered the tiny complimentary gifts. _It seems like just yesterday that I certified the delivery of these to the Lux…_ Lisa closed her eyes, cradling the clothing against her chest. _I want to go back._ The blatant simplicity of her desires brought a tear to her eye. This whole circumstance was so cruel, so unfair. She had nobody, no person in this god-forsaken country cared about her. Nobody except Bette and Harry.

Lisa's eyes flew open. _Bette and Harry._ Where were they? She wasn't with them. Jackson had kidnapped her in her sleep. Overcome with worry, Lisa fretted and paced in the large bathroom. They would be so upset when they realized she was missing. But at least with their attention, she had a chance. They would call the police and report—

Then, as suddenly as the glorious idea entered her mind, it departed, leaving Lisa with an empty, hollow feeling in her chest.

_That's not going to happen,_ she realized miserably, _because Bette and Harry are dead. _

Overcome not with sadness, but with uncontrollable anger, Lisa began to tremble, her fingers curling into fists. She felt not remorse over their insensible murders, but the burning desire for revenge. Logic danced away into the cool wintry air, and Lisa avowed to avenge the deaths of the sweet old couple by saving Sarah Keefe.

_Speak of the devil,_ Lisa thought as she pulled a sweater over her head. "Touch me and die!" Sarah screamed at Jackson from the bedroom. Despite the tragic circumstances of the past few days, Lisa couldn't help but smile at the girl's zeal. She had spunk, that was for sure. _I have to get her out of this place._ That was when an idea hit her, as suddenly as a gust of cold wind.

Lisa dressed hurriedly, storing up moments that could be used to her advantage. As soon as she was covered, the unfashionable garments hanging loosely over her thin frame, she double-checked the lock on the door to deny Jackson future entry. Then, as quickly as she could, she proceeded to scavenge the bathroom, taking care not to jostle items or knock them over with her trembling fingers.

Time passed swiftly in Lisa's desperation; she fretted every moment about the second that Jackson would break down the door and drag her away to punish her for her disobedience. _Like a dog, _she realized. Luckily, he didn't, but to her disappointment, the only items in the bathroom not bolted down were the complimentary bottles. Pushing her hair back and perching on the bathtub, Lisa resisted the urge to scream in frustration. She had finally detected a glimmer of hope and, like with the deaths of Bette and Harry, it had been stolen away just as quickly as it had come.

Lisa tried to console her disillusionment by reminding herself that her plea for escape had been ill-planned. It had been a sudden, spur-of-the moment idea, one that neglected Sarah's welfare and her own to boot. No, she decided, to overcome Jackson physically would require the young girl's help.

Because this time, she remembered, he was expecting her retaliation.

"Lisa! Hurry it up! What the hell are you doing in there? Did you die, or something?"

Allowing herself a deep breath, Lisa stood and opened the door, stepping back into the hotel room. Jackson sulked near the bed, a wrinkled suit and the accompanying paraphernalia draped over one arm. He scowled at her, waving his finger at the door and window.

"They're locked," he hissed. "_Both_ of them. And I will be," he gesticulated to the bathroom, "in here, listening intently should the two of you attempt something. Don't move a muscle, either of you, if you value your lives." 

Lisa didn't respond but rolled her eyes, sinking onto the bed next to the fully-dressed Sarah Keefe. The girl smoothed out a wrinkle in her blouse as Lisa tentatively scooted closer. It wasn't until she was a few inches away and Jackson had slammed shut the bathroom door that Lisa noticed the teenager's puffy red eyes and the glossy tears sliding down her flushed cheeks.

"You okay?"

Sarah, startled by Lisa's presence, jumped, quickly wiping at her face. "Sure," she answered loudly, her voice wobbly as she attempted gallantry. "I'm fine."

Lisa gathered her hands in her lap, biting her lip. "You know…you know you can tell me the truth, don't you?"

Sarah finally looked at Lisa's face, startled. "You."

"Me?"

"Lisa Reisert."

Lisa smiled. "Yeah. We've met. Briefly, but we've met."

"You saved my dad," the beginnings of a smile formed on the girl's lips. "And me."

"Well…" Sheepishly, Lisa shook her head. She hated being related to that incident. Really, she'd rationed, Jackson had been the culprit, and she'd rather he receive credit for his hatefulness than she for her valor.

"Don't deny it. You did," Sarah protested firmly. "And now I feel so much better that you're here with me. You'll get us out of this, I'm sure."

Lisa decided to simply smile, feeling timid. _What pressure,_ she realized suddenly. _I was looking for Sarah's help, but apparently…this is all on me._

Jackson burst suddenly out of the bathroom, looking incensed again over some matter or another. He threw a long, silken object at Lisa, furrowing his brow as he reached into his bag and pulled out the necktie he'd worn the previous day. He forcefully wrapped it around his neck and knotted it furiously. Lisa glanced down at the object in her hands and snorted back derisive laughter. Sarah leaned curiously over, poking at the tie.

"Your sister," Lisa laughed, passing her the doodled-upon garment.

Sarah cracked a smile, her blue eyes mischievous. "A lion?"

"A giraffe."

"I see," Sarah giggled girlishly. "I never could tell."

"Haha, hope you're all having fun at my expense," Jackson spot cynically. "Come on. Grab your stuff, you two, we're leaving." 

"You never answered me, Jackson," Lisa whined. "Where are we going, and why?"

"Amsterdam, and none of your business."

Wondering briefly what was in the Netherlands and why they were fleeing London after just barely deserting the initial jet lag, Lisa moaned and rose from the bed. Sarah, apparently, was wondering the same thing, as she frowned furtively as she picked up the bag of clothing that Jackson had given to her.

The two trotted leisurely after Jackson as they left the luxurious suite and veered towards the elevator. Lisa, ignoring Jackson's demands that they hurry up, was intoxicated by the glamorous ornamentation and beautification of the lobby for the Christmas holiday. She glanced at Jackson's watch, realizing how completely disoriented she was. The time read that it was seven o'clock.

"Jackson? Is it still Christmas?"

He scowled at her, punching a button and not answering her until they were enclosed in the elevator. "What? Yes, Leese, it's still Christmas. And yes, I think Santa Clause will still be able to find you this year."

"I'm glad Mel was home for Christmas," Sarah interjected suddenly, staring at the floor. Lisa looked at her, concerned. "She _loved_ holidays. Anything and everything that was celebrated, really, even down to the most absurd days. Mom and Dad bought her a dollhouse this year. She loves her dolls."

Lisa wrapped an arm around Sarah's shoulders and comfortingly rubbed the girl's arm as Jackson spat bitterly, "What they _should_ have given her is a leash and a sketchpad."

Shooting a scathing look at Jackson, Lisa looped her arm through Sarah's as the elevator came to a stop. Before the doors opened, however, Jackson turned to them, stepping closer than normal and speaking in a hushed, heated tone.

"If either of you try something out there, I swear to God that Mel and Tanya will be dead before you can even run to the police," Jackson threatened. Sarah, unfazed, whispered in Lisa's ear.

"Who's Tanya?"

"My cousin."

"Oh," Sarah answered simply, looking back at Jackson and nobly saluting him. "You got it, Colonel."

Jackson raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes flashing. "I'd be a bit more sparing with your sarcasm, Sarah. Lisa is living testimony to what can happen should I get angry." Ignorant to the fact that Lisa was making faces for Sarah's amusement behind his back, Jackson huffed out of the elevator. The two followed, smirking uncontrollably, into the ostentatiously decorated lobby.

The brightly colored baubles and ceiling-scraping Christmas tree dropped a weighty stone into Lisa's chest. She looked away from Sarah's bright, cheerful face, again wishing that she were back at home with her father. Her eyes landed on those of a small girl, decked out entirely in red, sitting merrily on her father's lap, her green eyes dewy with jollity. The girl looked strikingly like Lisa had as a small child, and it was all she could do not to burst into tears right there. Sarah noticed the direction of the older woman's gaze and pressed her head supportively against Lisa's shoulder.

As they waited in the relatively long line to check out, Jackson pulled a stack of papers from his pocket, flashing them clandestinely at the girls. He turned and spoke in a hushed murmur. "New identifications. We need them for the flight. Memorize your information. One mishap and I'll consider it as an attempt at escape and we _know_ what that makes me do."

Lisa bit back a string of obscene retorts and accepted her card without speech, and Sarah followed her example. Neither spoke until a few moments later, and at that time there was a detonation of volume.

"_Marcia_ Crandall?"

"_Rosie_ Crandall?"

"Jackson, that's horrible, I can't believe--"

"I sound like a--"

"I think even _Candy _was better than Marcia--"

"Would you _shut the fuck up?"_ Jackson snarled in subdued tones, yanking the cards back as he apparently realized his mistake. "I didn't pick them this time. And I'd like to point out, _Marcia,_ that you were the one who had to go and meet up with your fucking grandparents and get our last ones blown."

Lisa narrowed her eyes at him, resisting the urge to spit in his smug, contemptuous face. _Bastard._ "I hope you die."

He ignored her as he politely checked out, bidding a Merry Christmas to the concierge. She smiled warmly back, responding in a crisp Scottish accent that was garbled as a large group of tourists burst through the front doors. They chattered happily in Chinese and didn't pay Lisa, Jackson, or even Sarah a second glance as they bounced to the desk, and Lisa found herself glancing back towards where the small girl had been resting.

She watched as Jackson hurried her to the door. The girl, with a tousled head of bright red hair, excitedly accepted a shiny bundle from her father, screaming her happiness. She briefly wrapped her arms around her parent in a hasty embrace before shaking the bundle loose. Lisa realized with a surge of sadness what, exactly, the bundle was.

It was a cheerleading pom-pom, in the same colors that Lisa was familiarized with from her own days of rooting for her school's team. The girl jumped about, her cheers vivacious, as the concierge began to bustle over to complain. The father watched on, his face alight with pride, and Lisa turned away, looking out the door into the snowy street.

Lisa wished that a quantity of the girl's joy could channel into herself, if only to carry her through the day, a day that would undoubtedly be painful and aggravating and lengthy. She wanted to be six again, she wanted to be home on Christmas with her father. But, Lisa realized, there was nothing that she could do about that now. All that there was left to do was merely survive and save Tanya's life, while keeping Sarah out of harm's way in the process. She couldn't return to her six-year-old self, nor could she stop Jackson from carrying out his job.

She could, however, pray for the little girl, the stranger who looked uncannily like Lisa Reisert herself, and hope that whatever happened to her in the future, her life didn't end up like this.


	25. Chapter 25

_A man lives by believing something: not by debating and arguing about many things.__  
----_**_Thomas Carlyle_**

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Why did you just turn that off?" Sarah asked crankily, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes. Jackson peered curiously at her in the rearview mirror after flicking off the radio. Once a pretty, happy-go-lucky teenager, she now appeared exhausted and rundown. "I was listening to it."

Jackson paused, deciding it best not to tell Keefe's daughter that the newscaster had just hinted around an upcoming headline discussing Melanie. Instead, he lied, "I hate Christmas carols."

"Of _course_ you do," Lisa snarled quietly, sarcastically, in a pathetic imitation of a comeback. "Scrooge."

Jackson bit back a witty retort, smirking to himself as he pulled into a parking spot in the dimly-lit garage of Heathrow Airport. He put the car in park and glanced into the backseat.

"Let's go, Marcia. Rosie. And no, your glares do not phase me."

They clambered sullenly from the backseat, as grumpily as a pack of kindergarteners, and watched as Jackson, faltering under the weight of several bags, joined them. He nodded swiftly at a festooned security guard.

"Merry Christmas," although he really couldn't care less. The guard's head might have bobbed as well, but Jackson wasn't positive. Truth be told, he already liked the guy.

Inside the terminal, Lisa and Sarah were engrossed by the softly glowing holiday lights strung about the low-ceilinged room. Thankful that the two were engaged for several seconds, Jackson led them to the British Airways counter to check in. The woman working behind the desk was leggy and blonde, her hair perfectly manicured and combed to one side. She was terribly attractive, Jackson realized with a coveted smirk. Perhaps he'd return to this airport once Lisa and Sarah were off his hands.

She, unfortunately, did not seem to notice Jackson's flirtatious advances, the second person in his life that had ever seemed oblivious to his charm. The first, of course, was Lisa, but he discounted her as sane, anyway. The woman politely checked him in, a smile plastered over her face, but did not react to his magnetism.

"That was subtle," Lisa snorted as they stepped aboard the escalator to transport them to their gate. He turned, attempting to hide his recoil.

"What was subtle?"

"You should've just revealed your red light," she continued, the false sugar in her tone not quantitative enough to conceal the sarcasm. "Or plastered a sign over your face screaming, 'Hey! I'm available!'" Sarah giggled, but stared at her feet when Jackson threw an icy glare in her direction.

His shoe scuffed slightly on the creased steps of the escalator, and he stumbled slightly. Lisa continued to chatter inconsequentially to her newfound comrade, and Jackson turned stiffly to remark, "Heaven forbid I have a life. Some of us _do_ flirt occasionally, make attempts at being human. We can't all subsist by the clichés set out for us by romantic comedies."

Recognizing the small jab of insult thrown cruelly in her face, Lisa's cheeks turned a bright rouge, giving her the appearance of having applied a bit too much blush. "Why do you care about my social life, Jackson? It's not as if I care about _yours._"

Sarah appeared bemused by all this, her unwashed blonde hair flying in front of her eyes as, back and forth she stared, between the feuding pair. "Oh, but surely you do. Why would you have made that remark if you hadn't cared? Or acted so perturbed on the plane when the lady asked for my assistance?"

Lisa's eyes narrowed at the memories of the flight, her green eyes obnoxious slits set back in her pallid skin. Magnified in the brutality of the airport lighting, every single blemish on her face was made noticeable, and Jackson cringed with the realization. "You and I both _know_ what kind of assistance she wanted."

"That's not the question though, is it?" Jackson remarked arrogantly, glancing up at the dinging of the introduction of flight information on the intercom, recoiling with the sudden remembrance of the dinging of the seatbelt sign before Lisa had so brutally attacked him. "The question is, Lisa Reisert, why do you _care?_"

She stared at him for a moment and then lowered her eyes, shaking her head and setting her jaw in a defiant glower. "Like you said, Jackson," she replied after a moment, cutting ahead of him as they stepped off the escalator. "I live my life vicariously through cinematic romantic comedies."

Jackson stared at her back. Sarah trailed cautiously along after her older friend, her eyes reflecting extreme perplexedly. Jackson tried not to give too much pause to her sentiments, shaking his head as he double-checked their departure time, thinking to himself, _That wasn't what I said._

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

An hour later, Jackson found himself brutally shoving his bags into the overhead compartment, feeling very much like a sheepherder as he ushered Sarah and Lisa into their seats.

Prodding Lisa lightly with his thumb, "No. You're in the middle. Sarah's by the window."

"Why?" she whined, drawing the stares of other passengers. He leaned close to her ear and she cringed.

"I'm not going to say it again…_Marcia,_" he hissed ruthlessly, drawing out his words. "I. Don't. Trust. You."

"What am I going to do, Jack, drill a hole through the window with the power drill that I just happen to keep in my back pocket?" she retorted smartly, sullenly throwing herself into the center seat and angrily fastening her seatbelt. Sarah mimicked her, her fingers trembling almost as if she were afraid of the consequences should she not.

"Say that name again," Jackson muttered. "And see how long your cousin lives."

Lisa, her mouth already open in an irascible riposte, snapped it shut with equal vigor, averting Jackson's gaze as she reached for her in-flight magazine. He heard her murmur several obscenities beneath her breath before quieting as the flight attendants strolled past.

Jackson smoothed his jacket after fastening his seatbelt and checked his watch. _It's going to be a painful night,_ he decided, sighing with the recognition of the late afternoon hour. His eyelids fluttered sleepily, but he forced them open, well aware of the consequences should he fall asleep. He heard Lisa and Sarah chatting mutedly, rolling his eyes at their newfound friendship. _Ridiculous, the concept of friendship…_

Jackson's eyes flew open when a razor-sharp pain entered his side. He jerked upright, stealing a glance out the window. They hadn't taken off yet. Jackson scolded himself for his lack of professionalism and turned to Lisa, rubbing his sore skin. "Jesus, what do you want now?"

"What's in Amsterdam?" she repeated, her green eyes widening innocently as if she had deliberately woken him up to ask such a meaningless question.

"Yeah, what's in Amsterdam?" Sarah quipped, angling her head so that she, too, could stare curiously at Jackson. He glowered. _Obviously, they planned this…_ "You know, other than clogs and cheese wheels and windmills…"

"Is it possible for you two _not_ to talk for five minutes?" Jackson snapped irritably, rubbing his pounding forehead. "You're giving me a fucking headache…"

"Well, it's not as if you gave us anything _else_ to do," Lisa remarked coyly, and Jackson noticed her wink conspiratorially at her comrade. "No ties to color on…"

He tugged on the edges of his sleeves, bracing himself as he exploded, "No, fine, you want to talk? We'll talk. All three of us, a big happy talking fucking family." He looked at Sarah, speaking quickly and furiously while managing to keep his voice hushed. "Tell me, sweetheart, are you going to miss your father when he's gone? Does the fact that he'll be coming to rescue _you_ when he's killed initiate any sort of guilt?"

Sarah's features trembled, but no tears escaped her eyes. She whispered as she said, "You…you _ass_hole…"

"I'm glad to be of service," Jackson remarked, before turning his attention to Lisa, speaking more slowly and directly into her ear. "And you, how does it feel to be on your way to death?"

Lisa shrank away, her fists clenching in her lap, small, angry little missiles. "I refuse to have any sort of part in helping Keefe die…"

Jackson blamed the excessive, enraged testosterone rippling through his veins for the next mishap. What should have been kept quiet until the date of execution suddenly slipped from his mouth in his fury as he whispered back, "No, Leese, I don't mean Keefe. I mean _you._ Why the fuck do you think I chose fucking _Amsterdam_ to tie up these loose ends? If I simply wanted to off Keefe, I wouldn't travel halfway across the goddamned planet to do so. _You're_ the reason we're going to Amsterdam, _you're_ the second loose end. As soon as you're off my hands, I'm a free man. I won't have clients hunting me down every fucking hour of the day because _you_ fucked up one assignment. No, Lisa, we're going to Amsterdam so that I can finally be rid of you. So that I can finally finish what I started on that goddamned flight."

And with that, Jackson settled back into his seat, straightening his jacket as Lisa began to cry with a surprising quietness.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Ha! Bet you thought I was long gone. I've been here the whole time, trying to think of a decent culmination for this story that would lead nicely into the sequel (and thank God for those!) So this is the second to last chapter and reviews/CC would be much adored. Thank you in advance!

Xxx

Xxx

"_But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for."_

_--Paulo Coelho_

Lisa shivered in her flimsy clothing as they rushed to a waiting taxi, finding Amsterdam, if possible, even colder than London. She cursed the gray Dutch sky, wondering if the weather had forgotten if it was Christmas, wondering how she remembered it was Christmas in the first place.

She was probably going to die on Boxing Day, only a day after the festivities ended. She knew that had she been at home, her family's celebration would have lasted until New Year's Day, but here, in this dismal place lacking any sort of promise, her death would be the only occasion.

On the plane, holding Sarah's hand, she'd reached a numb sort of acceptance regarding her fate. Perhaps death would be a blissful relief to the agony she'd suffered over the past few years. Perhaps her father wouldn't miss her too much. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as she thought…maybe the Earth would continue spinning after all.

Jackson hadn't said much beyond the necessities. He hadn't looked much at her either, something Lisa found disconcerting as his eyes had rarely left her over their recent time together. It wasn't news to her that he lusted over her body; though he hadn't spoken the words it was obvious in his gaze and his mannerisms. While Lisa found herself completely unresponsive to Jackson Rippner the person, it could not be forgotten that he was, in fact, a man, and that his desires were not quashed by the boundaries of his career.

Nevertheless, he'd been remarkably distant, even for himself, since they'd left London. Nor had he been as snappish as usual, at least not to her. Sarah, with her quick tongue and constantly rolling eyes, had been an easy target, garnering Jackson's criticism every time she opened her mouth. Lisa had been spared.

A light squeeze on her knee drew her back to reality, and she gazed dimly at Jackson. "Yes?" She didn't even care that his hand lingered on her leg a second longer than was appropriate. It didn't matter, not at this point.

"When we get to the hotel, I have a few calls to make. After that, we'll take another short trip and then it's time for goodbyes. Got that?"

She shook her head. "Sarah. What about Sarah? Will she be home before I leave?"

"No. Her father will be arriving tomorrow as per agreement."

"Then I'm not leaving."

Jackson sighed as the cab pulled away from the curb, the driver nodding to his boss in the rearview mirror. "It's not your choice."

"You're right, it's my _life._ I'm not leaving Sarah alone with you."

"And why not?" Jackson turned to her, visibly annoyed

"Because I don't trust you, Jackson," Lisa found herself repulsive as the words that rolled off her tongue sounded remarkably exasperated, strangely wife-like, in a way. She paused before continuing scathingly. "You're not exactly the jolliest of all men."

Jackson shook his head and Lisa knew she was defeated, knowing Jackson thought he was allowing her to think she had a small victory.

They drove for several miles, halting only occasionally for the light traffic and occasional pedestrian. There weren't many; probably most were hunkered down in their quaint flats for the holidays, waiting out the wintry weather. Lisa could clearly see by the way the street signs curved in the wind, and the way the light dusting of snow seemed to scratch the surface of the pavement that it was not only cold but it was brutally windy. She observed this to Sarah, who laughed and told a silly joke about windmills, a topic she seemed quite fond of.

They came to a smooth, almost sliding stop in the middle of an apartment complex. Identical goliath structures towered over them from all sides, and Lisa felt as if she were shrinking knowing her fate inside of those buildings. Jackson tugged mercilessly on her arm, and Lisa took Sarah's hand. Jackson shook his head.

"No," he objected simply. Lisa frowned at him, pushing her bedraggled curls out of her face. "She's staying here. Leave the car running, Jeffrey. This won't take long. Come on, Leese."

"That's not fair," Sarah protested. She scooted towards the door as Lisa was pulled from her grasp. "I'm going, too--"

Before she could argue further, Jackson slammed the door in her face, turning his back to her. There was a muffled click was Jeffrey locked the doors, and Lisa ran to her friend. She felt sluggish, tired as she tugged futilely at the door handle, knowing there was no point. Knowing there was no use to her struggle anymore. Her body trembled in a blend of shivers and dry sobs, and Lisa didn't let go of the door handle until Jackson placed his hand over hers and gently pried it away.

"Leese," he demanded quietly, his voice so low that if the wind had been blowing any mightier she may not have heard him. "Let's go."

She obeyed, feeling not like a dog as she usually did in Jackson Rippner's presence but as a slave being led to her execution.

Jackson hadn't inflicted any lasting injuries on her, and he hadn't made any unwanted advances, advances that would certainly scar Lisa for the rest of her life had there been any. He hadn't forced her to do anything dreadful, at least not yet, and while she'd been involved in the deaths of several she hadn't killed anybody. Jackson had made sure that she left his care mostly unharmed, but she felt a bizarre sense of animosity towards him. She'd always hated him, spare that obvious hour or so in the airport lounge. But the new bitterness towards him felt different, different in that she felt strangely obligated to him, connected to him as only a slave is connected to a master. Yet he hadn't bound her in any way.

It was her emotions, she decided. It was his unrelenting control and torque of her feelings that made her feel so possessed. He had imposed upon her a forced reliance, and Lisa knew that even if she were heading home right now she would never spend a single day without thoughts of Jackson Rippner. His influence was unwanted but irreversible. She hated being so dramatic as to say he'd ruined her, but he wasn't exactly an overwhelming encouragement in her life, either. He merely exaggerated the qualities she already had, pulling and trimming out what made her the most uncomfortable, what had hurt her the most. He manipulated her.

"You manipulated me."

Jackson looked down at her as they huddled beneath the awning of the massive building. Jeffrey had decided to park the car in another location where Lisa and Sarah would not be able to see each other. The snow had turned into a thick rain, and Lisa's breath looked smoky before her face. "I didn't, Lisa. You had a choice the whole time."

"Did I?" Lisa asked, then changed her mind. "That's not what I meant. You played with my emotions, Jackson. You fucked me up more than I already was."

"Don't say that," he sighed. "I didn't do anything to you that the bastard in the parking lot hadn't. Don't blame me for what you couldn't fix in yourself. It's not my fault you're terrified."

"You're right," she admitted, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. She stepped away from him, at least as far away as possible on the steps. They stared at each other. "But it's your fault I'm here, isn't it? It's your fault I got involved in this whole goddamn thing in the first place. Do you think I really wanted to be involved in the murder of children, in the murder of a great man? Do you think I ever wanted to spend my Christmas with a sadistic maniac who doesn't even understand himself, let alone another human being?"

"If only you understood whose fault it really was, Leese," Jackson laughed acidly. "You'd be surprised to see that these people you trust, these people you hold such stock in, are actually the ones who betrayed you and cut you off from society and civility."

Lisa had moved discreetly closer to Jackson while he was lecturing, and as he paused to draw breath she slowly brought her foot to his groin and kicked harshly. He buckled and she ran, discarding her shoes as she did so, knowing the wedge would slow her down. Jackson stumbled after her; she hadn't looked but she could hear his labored breathing.

Lisa managed to find an abandoned alleyway, a dead end with a short chain link fence before another street boasting myriad business outlets. She had a foot up on the fence when she felt a pair of hands drag her back down, pulling her into a chest. They lost their balance and collapsed on the soiled, wet ground. Lisa cried into the pavement, wondering why everything always ended _here._ She always ended up on the ground, didn't she? She always found herself breathing in exhaust fumes, she always found herself next to a pile of cigarette butts or a discarded candy bar wrapper. She was also forced to the lowest reserves possible.

"Just carry me away, Jack," she breathed dejectedly. "Carry me to whoever it is that was ordered to kill me. End this now, just like you want to, finish me off, finish off all of your problems and forget about Keefe. Kill Keefe like you want to. Just finish it, Jackson, finish all of this and go to hell. I hope you're—"

She was interrupted by Jackson's mouth rapidly covering her own. He did not open her lips with his tongue but pulled away just as quickly as he'd kissed her, leaving Lisa to wonder if it had happened at all. She dragged in a breath of air, staring up into Jackson's eyes and wondering why she couldn't remember what she was planning to say. It was funny, she noted, because she'd imagined this ordeal happening so many times in the past, in different ways every time, but all with different responses. In some, she would punch Jackson brusquely in the face and force him away from her. Yet in others, she would submit to the kiss and the affairs to follow.

But now, she had nothing to say and she lay there, paralyzed, hurting.

"I don't want to kill you, Lisa," he said, his voice quiet and flat and strangely devoid of emotion. "And I don't lie. I've never wanted to kill you. You annoy the hell out of me and I would gladly beat you into unconsciousness but you don't deserve to die and I will hold that opinion. Keefe is another incident separated from you entirely. But you should not have been involved in this, and while I do not apologize, I wish it hadn't been you."

"Because you want to beat me into unconsciousness," Lisa interjected, and he shrugged.

"That," he muttered distantly. "That, amongst other things."

He pulled her to her feet and she followed him this time, dragging her numb, bare feet over broken glass and plastic but feeling absolutely nothing. A brawny, ruddy-faced man met them at the doorway to the building, and that was where Jackson let go of her hand. The man seemed perplexed.

"Jackson…are you sure this is her? I thought she was a spitfire."

"She was," he gently pushed her forward, and she stared at the ground. _This isn't happening, Lisa,_ she told herself, staring at her bare toenails. _You're walking into your father's house and you're not going to die yet. _"Until now."

Jackson began to walk away, and Lisa watched him until he reached the corner. There, he turned slightly and looked at her, his penetrating blue stare making her eyes water. She recalled his lips on hers, she remembered his harsh words on the plane, and she cried. She thought about Sarah, and she thought about Melanie. She remembered Jackson's artsy ties and she smiled through her tears, but mostly, she cried.

_This is the end of the line, kid,_ she told herself, thinking again of her hero, Inigo Montoya. _Not everything ends with a bang, does it? Sometimes it ends with numbness and unfinished business. It doesn't always end with swordfights after twenty years of bitterness. It doesn't always end with true love. _

_Sometimes it just ends. _


	27. Chapter 27

The cheap hotel room reeked dually of Clorox and semen, and Jackson silently scoffed at the irony. _Clearly the housekeeping services here leave something to be desired._ He lifted his head from where he'd been resting it on the back of his armchair and peered around the room.

It was smaller than what he was accustomed to, but it was a last-minute choice as he waited for the phone call from Lisa's caretaker. Or undertaker, whatever he was at this moment. Given that he'd completed his end of the job, he really had no plausible need to hang around, but he'd felt it was only right to pull together the loose ends.

Sarah was sitting unbound in the corner, her legs pulled to her chin. She'd stopped crying about twenty minutes ago and had been staring at the same stain on the wall ever since. He wasn't worried about her. His thoughts were somewhere else.

Jackson couldn't help but wonder if they were hurting her. He hadn't touched her, really, in their time together, and everything he had done he found himself now regretting. He hated that bitch known as regret. He'd been successful in avoiding it for most of his life but now he was filled with an infinite sense of guilt.

Gazing out the window, Jackson watched as a solitary car passed the hotel and turned the corner. He sighed to himself, but as a redheaded woman walked in the direction of the building he sat up straighter. He sunk into his chair, breathing heavily when he realized his error. _Stop thinking about her. She's probably dead by now._

Her father would be utterly heartbroken. Jackson had no soft feelings for the man, the gunshot wound in his chest permitted him to feel this way, but it would surely be a difficult affair. His only daughter, murdered because of his own career.

_Lisa Reisert, daughter, friend, manager, lover._

Lover?

Jackson stood up and rubbed his temples. Not lover. Who had she been a lover to? And why was he eulogizing her? It was not his place. She was not his, she had never been connected to him in anyway that she had ever desired. She was not a lover. She was a fighter and she always had been. He actually wondered if she even had the capacity to love a person. Probably no less than he did, but still.

He found himself kicking the air conditioning vents with his patent leather Italian shoe. _Goddammit, Lisa Reisert. Goddamn you. Why are you making it so hard for me to forget about you?_

"Did you love her?"

Jackson turned to Sarah and scowled. "Who?"

"You know who," she answered, sitting up and pulling her long blonde hair away from her face. "Why don't you accept it instead of running away?"

"You're what, fourteen?" Jackson rolled his eyes and looked away. "You realize your opinions don't mean jackshit."

"Whatever you say, Jack."

He exploded because the familiar phrase sent fireworks before his sight. He stormed towards Sarah and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, throwing her up against the wall with little effort.

"Fuck you," he snarled. "You don't understand _anything_ about _anyone,_ and that includes me, and that includes Lisa."

"You're blind, Jack."

He let her go and her head rattled against the wall as she slid to the floor. He did not regret this.

_You're blind, Jack._

To what? He wondered. To himself? Or to Lisa? Had she been trying to say something this whole time? Did he care? Should he care?

Jackson swallowed hard and looked again at Sarah. She was rubbing her head but looking bizarrely unmoved.

"Get in the car."

X=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=X

The door was made of a cheap industrial material and splintered in the middle as Jackson hit it with the butt of his gun. His foot entered next and then his entire body. He heard a feminine scream and several male grunts as he looked around, his weapon drawn.

"Jackson."

Lisa sat against the wall, her knees trembling as she tried to stand. She was in rough shape, the hem of her shirt torn and her legs scratched and bloodied. Her feet were purple and swollen, much like her left eye. Jackson knew many of these injuries had been derived from the scuffle in the alleyway but, on the other hand, most had not. Much of the skin on her neck and face was cracked and bleeding from the impact of something strong and heavy. He started towards her when he realized that the scar on her collarbone was dripping blood down her front.

"What the _fuck_ did you do to her?"

There were four men in the room, most of them young but the last being one of the highest-ranked officials in the company. He stepped forward. "Nothing, Jackson. She's putting up a little too much effort. We tried to sedate her medicinally for about an hour after you left. We've moved on to more extreme measures since then."

"I don't want you to touch her," Jackson snarled. "I can take care of this."

The first speaker, Hugh Blacken, rolled his eyes with a light, reflective chuckle. "Jack, Jack, Jack," he chortled. "We know you want to…_take care of her_….so to speak…but please let us do our jobs, eh? You've had her long enough."

"And she was mine to be had."

"Not yours," Lisa whispered in the corner. "Not _anybody's_."

He ignored her, stepping closer to Hugh. "We're going to leave now."

"That would be good," Hugh answered with a nod, not understanding. "It'll be easier for her that way. We know you two have something going on, or…whatever."

Jackson threw the side of the gun into Hugh's cheekbone, relishing the crunch of bone as it pressed against his nose. The man crumpled into unconsciousness on the floor and Jackson began to fire as Hugh's henchmen surrounded him. He regretted his impulse as they collapsed into a dead heap, but forget this as soon as Lisa made a noise.

"Jackson?"

Delicately stepping over a puddle of blood, he helped her to her feet. She stared at her toenails and then at the corpses. "What….they're dead."

"I realize that. They were not, as many would believe, narcoleptic."

"You killed them."

"Um. Yes."

"Why?"

Jackson shrugged and nudged her towards the door. She hesitated. "I don't know. Seemed better than watching tv, which is my other method of boredom reduction."

Lisa hit him in the arm and when he turned, she hit him in the face. He stepped back, stumbling on the slick floor.

"What the _fuck--_"

"Why did you come back here, Jackson? Why are you still here?"

He sighed and pushed a sweaty lock of hair away from his face. "God, Leese, all these quest--"

Lisa hit him again, her fiery red hair like flames as it licked around her face. She stepped closer, shoving him in the chest. "No, you don't understand. Why did you come back? They are—they were going to kill me. You handed me over. Why are you here now?"

"Let me explai--"

"Oh, _you_ want to explain," she snorted. "That's cute. It's always about _you,_ isn't it, Jackson? You fucking kiss me and think you're being wonderful but you're just trying to calm me down enough to get me to come here. You're a sleaze, Jackson Rippner, and I hope you die. I hope you die in the most painf--"

Before the final words could leave her lips Jackson caught them with his own, pulling her body into his in a kiss that was far more fragile than the one they'd shared in the alleyway. She initially tried to push him away but succumbed, and he felt the salty tears rushing down her face. When he let go she looked at him.

"I've changed my mind, Lisa."

"About what?" her voice was timid, shocked.

"You," he answered as he led her towards the door. For once, she followed. "I've decided that I want you around me. I want for you to be a pain in my ass. I want to wake up in the morning knowing that you'll be there….being a pain in my ass. I just want to be around you and all those things you do."

Lisa nodded numbly and stared into the rain. "I want to go home, Jackson."

He touched her fingers. "You'll get there. Eventually."

"But…"

Jackson kissed her cheek again and withdrew, feeling out of place. Lisa saw Sarah in the car and lifted noticeably. "But let it happen. It will. I promise. But there are some loose ends that need tying up."

"Loose ends?"

"Joe Reisert."

**Author's Note: And that, my friends, is the end. I'm sorry that this final chapter was so late in its arrival. I've been terribly busy with the end of school (senior year=sadness) and a bunch of other stuff such as work. So please don't slaughter me! Anyway, enjoy, please review. ******


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